Mistakes Were Made
by doodly-squat
Summary: At the start of his senior year in high school, Prompto is starting to wonder where he fits in amongst his royal friends. Is he merely Prince's Noctis' comical best friend? Sure, he's the guy who lightens the mood of a tense room, but he's also the one person who is always guaranteed to trip over his own feet. One decision though, will change everything.
1. Chapter 1

Hey all, this follows about three-ish years after my story 'Introductions,' but it should be easy enough to follow without having read the previous story. Enjoy!

* * *

Prompto aimed, steadied the gun as best he could, but the muscles in his arms burned, shook, begged for rest. Too bad there was no time to spare for a quick breather. He braced for the weapon's kickback and pulled the trigger.

The shot missed. A wave of exhausted disappointment spread through Prompto, but quickly, frantically, he fired off three more shots, sending his opponent ducking for cover.

 _That…was not great, but I think the last one connected. Maybe?_

He risked a quick glance over at Noctis. Breathing hard, form sloppy, eyes locked in a hard glare on his foe, the Prince was obviously struggling to hold his ground. Every move Noctis made screamed of fatigue. The sense of their impending defeat made Prompto's hackles rise.

 _We're gonna lose…_

No sooner than that thought had struck him, Prompto felt his legs fly out from beneath him, felt hands slow his fall so that the impact with the ground didn't completely force the air from his lungs.

When he dared to open his eyes and look up, he found Timmons standing over him, holding a sword to his throat.

"And you're dead," the Glaive said with a little too much joy.

"Noct is dead too," Gladio chimed in from nearby. "We win."

 _Oh man, Noct is gonna flip…_

"Not fair!" Noctis whined, pushing Gladio's sword away from his chest.

Gladio laughed. "Not fair? We only used swords, while you used ranged weapons, swords, magic and I'm pretty sure I saw you throw a dagger or two. How is that not fair for you?"

A group of Crownsguards who were milling around the weight stations on the outskirts of the training room floor gave a few muffled laughs.

Timmons offered Prompto a hand, easily lofting the blond back on to his feet. Then, the redheaded Glaive chuckled and gave Prompto a quick, friendly clap on the back.

"And now you and I take a backseat to the argument that is sure to arise," Timmons grinned, his voice low, meant only for Prompto to hear.

Prompto shook his head. "Ah, you don't take a backset, _you_ simply run away."

A gentle punch to the shoulder and scoffed huff came from Timmons, but the honest smile never left the Glaive's face.

"Some of us," Timmons replied quietly, "know better than to get involved in a quarrel between a Prince and his Shield or a Prince and his Advisor… _or_ a Prince's Shield and a Prince's Advisor…"

"I just hate seeing friends fighting, that's all," Prompto said, gaze drifting back to the standoff starting to take place between Gladio and Noct. He'd missed what the two had been saying, so he wasn't sure exactly what tactic to take on defusing the situation. "Sometimes they just need a distraction to cool down, to realize that what they are so anger about is just…well…kinda stupid. Any idea what they've been starting into now?"

Timmons shrugged. "Gladio just gave the responsibility and try harder speech, mixed with the 'you are in your senior year of high school now – you should be better than this' guilt trip, followed with the ailing King reminder and weight of the Kingdom finale. My guess is that Noctis is probably about to go into shutdown mode any minute, and then…"

"Okay," Prompto sighed, "I got it. I'm going in. Wish me luck!"

"Good luck…Chocobutt head."

"My hair does not look like a Chocobo's butt! I hope those rubber bullets hurt."

Timmons laughed. "They always do!"

After one last friendly glare back at Timmons, Prompto stealthily positioned himself between Noct and Gladio. It was never a comfortable place to be, directly in the midst of piqued anger and frustration.

"I guess we lost the bet then, huh?" Prompto chuckled, hoping no one noticed the slight tension in his voice. "So…Noct and I get to clean the up the training room today. Lucky us!"

 _Get them back on track, remind of them of what we're doing right now…keep this light…trip on your own feet if necessary…do anything to get a smile or laugh and remind them that they don't hate each other…_

"Yeah, but don't half-ass it like last time," Gladio smirked. "You gotta put the weights away, wipe down the equipment and gather the towels."

 _Ugh, Gladio had to remind us that we lost the last round too…that's not going to sit well with Noct._

"Yeah, yeah," Prompto replied with a grin. "I know. Pick up the million and two weights you all will leave out, wipe down the puddles of gross sweat you'll all leave on the machines and then pick up the hundreds of stinky towels you'll fling all over the room. I think I understand."

Everyone laughed – except Noctis.

 _Alright, got half the targets letting down their guard, and now…_

"On a side note…" Prompto added, "I spotted a weakness in your defense during the fight. It was too late to do anything about it this go around, but Noct and I are _totally_ gonna wipe the floor with your butts next time!"

 _That_ elicited a smirk from Noctis.

Grinning, Gladio quirked a brow, "Really? How about next match, if we win, you two have to clean the training room for a week?"

 _Upping the stakes?_

Okay, what would be worse than what they'd wagered this time for Gladio's loss – which was cleaning Noctis' apartment? Cleaning it for a week? No, that wasn't as bad as cleaning the training room for a week. Noctis was a bit of a slob, but nowhere near as bad as the training room after the Glaives and Crownsguards had hit it hard.

"Okay," Prompto replied, trying to hold back his mirth at the idea that just struck him, "but if you lose, you and Timmons have to clean Noct's apartment _and…_ " He paused for dramatic effect. "… help out my elderly neighbor Clara for a week."

Gladio groaned, and for a split second, Prompto actually thought the big guy might stand down and refuse the bet.

"Come on, you haven't stopped by to help her since I asked you for a hand repairing her fence last spring," Prompto added, not able to contain the smile nearly splitting his face. "She keeps asking where that ' _nice thick-necked gentleman with the big seagull tattoo'_ has gone off to."

Gladio raised a hand to his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose as if a migraine had just started. "Seagull tattoo?" He muttered. "She knows it's not a seagull…she just says that to annoy me."

Prompto laughed. "Yep, I think she called it a pigeon last time."

"Alright," Gladio said, "It's a bet. Next week, same time, we'll do this all again."

"Except," Noctis chimed in, "Prompto and I will win."

There was a twinkle of approval in Gladio's gaze, "Yeah, we'll see about that, Princess…"

A wave of anxiety eased from Prompto as he sensed the tension between Noct and Gladio had passed. He cast one timid glance over at Timmons, and the Glaive was quick to give him two over exaggerated thumbs-up coupled with a large cheesy grin.

A bit of light-hearted banter followed and then everyone began to do some cool-down exercises. Soon, the room would clear out. Everyone would leave the biggest mess they could, as that was the tradition when a bet such as this was lost. It didn't matter that the loser was the Crown Prince. Everyone received the same treatment.

The Glaives and Crownsguards slowly started filtering out of the room. Most gave a respectful bow to Noctis as they departed, and then a noogie or head pat to Prompto.

If the training exercise hadn't been enough to mess up his hair, the playful embraces from the Glaives and Crownsguards did the trick, but Prompto didn't mind, not really.

He gave a good show of pouting and dodging, but, in the end, he laughed it all off, trying to fix his hair as best he could. No one acted maliciously. They were gentle with their teasing, always garnishing it with kind words and smiles.

Timmons was the last to leave, reminding the two to send a text to Ignis letting the Advisor know they'd probably be late for dinner.

Prompto shrugged. His stomach was already rumbling, begging for whatever delicious dish Ignis had cooked up, but they still had the cleaning to do, and then they'd have to shower and change. Only then would they get dinner.

As Prompto grabbed a spray bottle of disinfectant and a clean towel, readying himself to tackle the training equipment, Noctis pulled his phone out. Hopefully he was texting Ignis.

After a minute, Noct put his phone away, gave a few grumbled mutterings and started collecting dirty towels.

They worked in silence, save for the angry grumbling of both of their stomachs.

Prompto tried to focus on his work, knowing it would go faster if he didn't allow himself to get distracted, but after Noctis' movements had gone far too quiet, he looked up.

Just as Prompto had predicted, the Prince was slumped over on a bench…sound asleep.

That was okay though. Noct needed his rest. After all, he'd exerted himself far harder during the training than Prompto. Really, Prompto just had to stand there and keep his arms raised, while Noct was warping, swinging a sword, dodging, rolling, jumping, running…

Plus, no one went easy on Noct like they did Prompto. Noctis was covered in bruises and Prompto…well… he didn't have a mark on him.

It had been something that had bothered the blond for years now, and he'd mentioned it a time or two to Ignis and Gladio, but he'd repeatedly been reassured that it meant nothing, that he simply didn't have the training that Noct did, so people engaged him during these exercises differently.

While he could kind of understand that, it still hurt his pride somehow. He hated being treated like he was so fragile. After his bike accident almost three years ago, after everyone learned that he might have suffered some abuse before he'd been adopted by his parents, everyone just looked at him differently. Heck, the guys wouldn't even let him fall to the ground without bracing him a bit, as proved by how Timmons ever-so-gently knocked him down during their fight.

He also hated the fact that he wasn't being trained to actually fight. Sure, he could use a gun, but no one would spar with him in hand-to-hand combat. Yeah, so maybe he was terrible at it, but it wasn't like he could get any better without practice.

Then, there were the few instances he'd taken a good hit during training and everything came to a grinding halt. The training room practically went on a lock down while his _minor_ injuries were tended, and whoever caused the injury was in for the longest, fiercest berating of his or her life.

Ultimately, it was incredibly embarrassing, and after the first time it happened, Prompto stopped coming to the training room for a couple of months.

Something kept drawing him back though. Something deep inside him kept whispering that he needed to keep going, to keep trying to better himself.

Over the years, he'd watched with envy as first Gladio and then Ignis readied themselves for their Crownsguard initiation. Prompto hadn't been able to attend the ceremony, but he'd heard all about it. He daydreamed about achieving that honor himself, but…that was foolish.

He'd asked Cor once, sometime during his sophomore year of high school, if he could ever be a Crownsguard. Cor's answer was not exactly what Prompto had hoped to hear.

" _You're claustrophobic, agoraphobic, acrophobic and that just might be the tip of the iceberg. Do you really think you're cut out to be a Crownsguard?"_

Well, at least it wasn't a flat out ' _no.'_

In fact, Cor had agreed to teach him a few defensive moves when he had the time. The problem was that Cor didn't often have any extra time, and, when he did, Prompto preferred to spend it doing something fun. It just didn't feel fair to make the man who spent all day at the Citadel, doing paperwork and training, stay at the Citadel and work more.

"Need a hand?"

Prompto jumped at the voice, whipping around quickly, only to find Gladio staring back at him.

"I kind of figured Noct would be too wiped out to do much cleaning…" Gladio said, already starting to pick up some dirty towels, "which meant you'd be doing all the work alone and that just didn't feel right." He glanced up at Prompto and smiled. "After all, it's normally Noct and I that make these silly bets, and you and Timmons just get pulled in."

Glancing over at Noct, Prompto found the Prince was still out cold.

"Except for today," Prompto added as he started wiping down the exercise equipment once again. "So, next week is entirely _my_ fault."

"Yeah," Gladio let the word roll out slowly, as if he had more to say, but the long pause that followed had Prompto wondering if he'd just imagined that. Finally, the big guy continued on. "Thanks for earlier. For doing what you always do, to keep the peace."

Prompto felt his cheeks warm at that. "I don't know what you're talking about." He knew the playing dumb act wouldn't work, but it was all he could think of at the moment.

"Sure you don't, kid. Sure…" Gladio answered with a chuckle.

They kept working in a companionable silence. Gladio was quick, gathering all the weights and putting them away with ease. Honestly, Prompto was more than a little happy the big guy was there to help with that task. Not only would it have taken Prompto at least an hour to do, he would have been sore from head to toe after he was done.

Once they had finished, Gladio slipped out the room, opting not to let Noct know that he'd lent a hand. After all, he explained, he didn't show up for Noct's sake – he was there for Prompto.

Eager to get to dinner, Prompto most unceremoniously shook the living heck out of his Prince, and when that didn't work, he got a cup of water and splashed it on Noct's face.

Sputtering, gasping, Noct rolled off the bench and glared up. "What was that for?"

"Dude," Prompto grinned, "what do you think it was for?"

Scowl set in place, Noct glanced around the room before his expression softened. "Did you clean up everything by yourself?"

Prompto shrugged, "Kinda?" He didn't exactly want to lie, but he didn't want to admit Gladio had helped either.

"You should have woke me up," Noct grumbled as he got to his feet. "I should have helped."

"Dude, it's fine. It wasn't that bad anyway, and I'd say that next time you could clean it up all by yourself, but there won't be a next time," Prompto paused to flash a grin at Noctis, "Because I don't plan on losing to those two goons again!"

Noct's smile beamed back at him. "Yeah! Sounds good to me. Now, how about we go get cleaned up and then get some grub. I'm starving."

Prompto nodded, more than happy to start making their way toward whatever Ignis had cooking.

* * *

The plan was simple. Samson had learned long ago that complex plans, those with too many moving parts, were easily thrown off course.

"Have you been watching the school?" he asked, his gaze shifting over the greasy, dark-haired man standing before him.

"Yeah, sir…just like you said. Been writing all the Prince's movements down in my notebook so I won't forget them either."

Samson shrugged. He'd not been particularly enthralled with his latest recruits, but, seeing as he needed every last one of them to be expendable, he didn't dare hire his regular team. They were far too valuable to risk. Also, he knew few of his more experienced employees would willingly make the trek from Tenebrae to Lucis – no matter how good the payout promised to be.

"That's good work, Viktor. I'll take the book and look over the information. It will prove invaluable to the plan."

Viktor grinned, which, unfortunately, did nothing for the man's hideous face. Taking a step forward, he set the mentioned notebook on Samson's desk. Its cover held various stains and a peculiar odor of boiled eggs wafted off of it.

"When do we nab the Prince?" Viktor asked, painfully awkward grin still in place.

"I have a few more elements to put into place, and I'll have to review your information, but probably soon– a few days, perhaps. Our timeframe for smuggling Prince Noctis out of Insomnia is closing sooner than I'd anticipated."

"Yeah…" Viktor nodded. "That's because you didn't think that the…"

"I believe we're done here." Samson kept his gaze fixed on the little man, watching him squirm as he realized his misstep. He didn't need one of his lackeys pointing out his errors. He was well aware of those without this bumbling commentary.

Hunching in on himself, Viktor scurried out of the room. The unpleasant odor of boiled eggs and farts remained though.

Samson stood and cracked open a window, praying that would help dissipate the stench. Viktor was an unpleasantness, but he was not without his uses. The man had proven himself so unremarkable that he'd even managed to fly beneath the Crownsguards radar.

They probably just saw him as some harmless imbecile feeding pigeons in the park across the way from the high school. Even when he strolled down the streets, following not far in the Prince's wake, did anyone think to question him. He was so good at blending in, at becoming lost in a crowd, it was remarkable.

There were few others that could have pulled off such a feat. There were few others that could have tracked the Prince for months on end, going totally undetected.

Yes, Viktor had his uses. Unfortunately for Viktor, those uses would come to an end once they had Prince Noctis, and Samson had no desire to keep useless people around.


	2. Chapter 2

Cor hated Jolly Polly's Ice Cream Parlor.

He loathed the bubbly pop music that blared throughout the dining area. He detested the childishly garish blue and pink walls. The colors so vibrant and bright they almost made his eyes bleed.

There was no way for a man of his age to set foot in this building without a tiny bit of his manlihood dying.

He absolutely despised the company icon – an anthropomorphic ice cream sundae with comical arms, legs and a face frozen in a perpetual state of ludicrous glee. The creature was creepy as hell and plastered all over nearly every damn thing in the place. Cor couldn't avert his eyes in any direction without that _'I'm-totally-insane'_ blissed out mascot gazing back at him.

Yes, Cor _even_ hated the ice cream flavors at this parlor.

All he wanted was mint chocolate chip, but no, Jolly Polly had to have flavors with names like gummy worm ripple triple fudge and brownie sprinkle surprise. What was the surprise? Cor had no idea, but, from a previous visit, he knew it was oddly spicy, slimy and his stomach would revolt about an hour after he'd consumed the likely poison that Jolly Polly had given him.

Try though he might, he couldn't find one damn flavor at Jolly Polly's that had less than five words in its title. Where were the plain chocolate and vanilla ice creams? Why did everything have to be so damn elaborate?

There was only one thing that redeemed Jolly Polly's Ice Cream Parlor and that was the fact that Prompto absolutely loved it.

 _That_ was the only reason Cor came to this place about once every three months for the past two years. _That_ was why he endured the horrible music, outlandish aesthetics and the miserable ice cream.

Sitting across from Cor, grinning down at his monstrosity of a frozen yogurt –which, honestly, looked far more like a bowl of fruit topped with a dollop of actual frozen yogurt – Prompto looked absolutely content. He had that innocent, cheerfully dopey smile that Cor had never seen on any other 17 year old before.

The kid was just a ray of friggin' sunshine.

For all the darkness, anger and pain in the world, Cor found such immense comfort in the fact that _this_ was what that baby he'd found so long ago in that horrible compound had grown up to be. It gave him hope that anything might yet be possible for Eos – no matter how grim things sometimes seemed.

So, yeah, Jolly Polly's might have been awful, but it was worth it just to see the kid that damn happy.

Cor forced down a spoonful of his candy caramel coco almond nugget swirl supreme ice cream and then cringed at the assault of flavors. Where was the kick of sour coming from, and why was it so chewy?

"Is it good?" Prompto asked, face hopeful, obviously eager to see Cor enjoy Jolly Polly's as much as he did.

"Great," Cor answered, flashing what he hoped looked like a genuine smile. "Probably my favorite flavor they have here."

That wasn't too much of a lie. After all, it didn't make him gag like the triple berry white chocolate mocha mint marble melody ice cream did on his first trip to Jolly Polly's with Prompto. _That_ had been a hard bowl of ice cream to finish. It had such a curiously distressing fishy aftertaste.

Prompto gave a happy little hum. "Yeah, that's a good one. Gladio really likes that one."

"Yeah?" Cor said, his curiosity piqued. "Have you come here with Gladio, Prince Noctis _and_ Ignis?" He couldn't fathom Ignis Scientia giving this horrid establishment the time of day. Honestly, he might just pay good money to see the look on Ignis' face when he tasted what Jolly Polly had to offer.

Prompt's grin grew just a little. "Ignis called this place 'a blight on the culinary world and an abomination that unfalteringly ignores the wants of the human palate and forces rubbish flavors upon the masses.'" The blond paused to chuckle. "So…Iggy really only came here one time. After that, it was just Gladio, Noct and me."

Cor snorted.

 _That certainly sounded like Scientia._

"How was practice yesterday?" Cor asked, eager to steer the conversation away from Jolly Polly's – just so there weren't any opportunities for him to slip up and let his disdain for the place be known.

"Well," Prompto said, slouching in his seat, "Noct and I lost the training scenario to Gladio and Timmons, so that wasn't great."

Cor gave a curt nod, glared at another spoonful of his ice cream and then forced himself to take the bite. He tried to swallow it down quickly, hoping that it wouldn't have time to interact too much with his taste buds. That plan, however, did not succeed.

As the Marshall eyed his dish, a new grotesquely cheery pop song began to play, and Cor was pretty damn sure one of the employees actually turned the music up. _Six_ , he hated this place!

"Noct and I had to clean the training room," Prompto added, as he dipped his spoon back into his dessert, seemingly oblivious to the evil glare Cor had pointedly set on the gawky young man behind the counter, "except Noct fell asleep."

Returning his gaze to Prompto, attempting as best he could to look like he wasn't going to murder _everyone_ who currently worked at Jolly Polly's, Cor smiled.

He wasn't the least bit surprised to hear of Noctis' lapse into slumber. The Prince often overexerted his powers during the training sessions. It was something that the boy still needed to work on. Learning to win is important, but just as important is learning how to conserve energy, how to keep on your feet, how to brace yourself for the next fight. Going full hilt, exerting everything in one shot, that would only get a fighter so far, and then they would be left defenseless, open for anyone to destroy.

Prompto looked up, smiling as his eyes locked with Cor's. "It wasn't so bad though. Gladio came back and helped me clean up, so I didn't have to do it all alone."

Cor nodded. He'd expect nothing less from Gladio. Under that gruff, stern appearance, the man was fair and kind. Though he had a stubborn side and often let his temper get the better of him, Cor still had faith the young Amicitia would prove to be an excellent Shield to Prince Noctis.

Honestly, it seemed like just yesterday that Gladio was being sworn in to the Crownsguard. Ignis too, still seemed so fresh and new to the role. With the political world in such chaos at the moment, with war and destruction always looming so close at hand, what would be on the horizon for these young men? How close would they be walking with death? How long would they survive the crushing call of their duty?

Cor blinked, suddenly realizing Prompto was staring at him. Brow scrunched, eyes narrowed, the blond was more than just staring, he was assessing.

"You okay?" Prompto asked, his smile was soft, concerned.

"Just thinking,' Cor answered, "about the future."

The carefree joy that so often lit Prompto's expression seemed to drain away. An unsettling seriousness strained his features. For a few moments, the two were silent. Cor was at a loss for how to rectify his misstep, how to get that happy grin to grace the young man's face once again.

"I'd like to try out for the Crownsguard training," Prompto said at last, "I know I'm not a great candidate, but I still…" He looked up, eyes locked with Cor's. "…I want to try."

Cor shrugged.

He knew this day was coming. He'd discreetly tried to discourage Prompto from trying out for the Crownsguard, but, no matter how dismal he made the life of a Crownsguard sound, he could see the yearning in the boy's eyes every time someone spoke of the duty that was settled on Ignis and Gladio and how they would serve loyally at the Prince's side.

"I'll…" Cor paused, uncertain of his decision, hoping he wouldn't have to make this final call, "I'll ask around and see if there is a spot open for the next entrance exams, but, per the new rules, you can't even take the exam until you are officially out of high school."

Cor only hoped that, maybe with some time, Prompto would change his mind. Probably not, but at least it gave Cor a glimmer of hope that the kid would get to live a normal life and not one filled with the pull of duty and solitude he'd known.

"Okay," Prompto replied. "That's what I figured. I'm good with that. I can start doing some extra training after school to get ready for it."

Cor nodded, unable to bring himself to vocalize how much of a disadvantage Prompto would be at compared to the other young men and women who would also be taking the exam. Most were born to families of Crownsguards or Hunters. They were raised learning to fight. They were strong. Muscle memory formed to the ways of swordplay. Each would have already trained and mastered two to three weapons. Prompto was good with his guns but that was all he seemed capable of handling. Without them, he would be lost.

There would be a few older candidates as well, those with experience and motivation.

Prompto would be no match for any of them, and his testing scores would surely reflect that. There was little hope he would be able to pass.

Cor's attention slowly drifting to the horrible music playing in the background. It seemed to be some kind of song about beachwear and Galdin Quay Gals?

"I heard," Prompto said suddenly, "that Timmons had a medical checkup last week…"

A flood of amusement swept through Cor.

"Yeah," Cor chuckled. "I heard that too, and I heard that they thought he had the Galahd Mumps and had him in quarantine for nearly a day…before he could convince him that the lumpy spots all over his body were from being shot at with rubber bullets."

Prompto laughed. It was a crisp, wonderfully honest sound that Cor wished he could bottle and take with him.

"He's vowed to get me back somehow," the blond added, "so…I've got that to look forward to."

Cor smiled. A little friendly hazing was fine. After all, it built character.

Of course, if things went too far and Prompto got hurt…well, Cor would just have dole out some payback via the training sessions. It had never been something he'd outright _threatened_ the Crownsguards or Kingsglaives with, but he might have _implied_ it a time or two.

He would not, though, have that same luxury when Prompto took the Crownsguard entrance exam. No, there would be nothing he could do to stop that onslaught.

"I'll help you train," Cor said suddenly, spurred on by his drive to keep Prompto as far from harm and humiliation as possible, "for the entrance exam…if you want."

 _Why the hell did I open my mouth?_

Prompto grinned from ear to ear. "I'd like that."

Cor gave a curt nod, and his stomach twisted just a little.

He had never wanted to be in this position.

It was one thing to train for fun with Prompto. That was… _nice._ It was time to chat and idly teach the kid a few tips, but this was a whole new beast. Training for the entrance exam wouldn't be enjoyable. To do it correctly, it would be brutal and punishing. Cor knew how to be both those things. He'd trained many over the years. He was good at it.

The problem was that while those he trained respected him and looked up to him, most had no love for him. It had never bothered him much before, keeping himself emotionally walled off from his trainees. They could hate him all they wanted. It didn't matter. He'd make them what they needed to be. That was his job, but with Prompto…he didn't want Prompto to hate him.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Cor glanced at his watch. _Si_ x _!_ It was later than he realized.

"Get working on that frozen yogurt," Cor said. "We have an appointment."

Lopsided frown sliding into place, Prompto blinked back at him. "Appointment?"

It wasn't often that Cor came up with some activity he was sure was going to be a hit, so he savored the moment, watching in amusement as the young man's brow furrowed in concentration – his mind obviously frantically trying to drum up what might possibly be on the horizon.

"The Festival of the Kings of Old will soon be coming to a close," Cor answered.

Prompto shrugged, confusion still more than evident in his expression.

"Tomorrow night, the nightly fireworks will start up," Cor continued. "The Chocobos that were brought in for the carnival will be shipped out right before that, so that the birds don't spook from all the explosions."

At the word ' _Chocobos'_ Prompto perked up, eyes wide, hopeful.

"Do you mean…?"

Cor grinned. "Yeah, thought we could go down to the pens and maybe take a ride. I know one of the guys who works with the birds. He owes me a favor or two."

"You know," Prompto grinned and eyed their desserts, "we _can_ take these to go. I promise I won't spill in the car!"

Cor arched a brow. The blond was already twitchy enough, so add sugar and excitement on top of that and there was no way that ice cream _wasn't_ going to end up all over Cor's car.

 _Still…_

"Sure, Kid…Let's…"

Prompto bolted out of his seat, snatching up his ice cream and Cor's before he bee-lined it for the service counter. Cor grinned as he watched the worker behind the counter set to work putting their ice cream into to-go cups.

Another horrendously upbeat and painfully senseless pop song started up.

But that didn't matter.

Cor didn't care.

Watching Prompto grinning like a fool, Cor felt content enough to even let his hatred of Jolly Polly's slip away just a little.

Of course, he still fully intended to ' _accidentally'_ drop his ice cream once they were well away from this hellhole. After all, he didn't love the place…he just hated it a little less.

* * *

Samson eyed the scribbled out timeline once more. The words were sloppily scrawled across the notebook paper. Viktor's handwriting was pathetic but legible. Though the child-like scrawl of words gave Samson reason to reconsider his hired hand's mental aptitude, it at least proved the man understood all the stages of the plan.

With a heavy shrug, Samson sat back in his chair.

Soon it would all be over…well at least the difficult part would be done.

Samson relished what followed. He'd grown quite talented at finding the highest bidder for his abductees. He'd even ransomed a few people back for hefty sums. King Regis would probably pay anything for his only dear son, and heir to the throne.

And if Regis wouldn't cough up the coin, well, there were those in Niflheim and even Tenebrae who'd certainly be interested.

One way or another, Samson would get the payout he sought.

After tomorrow, when they were well out of the city, he would consider his options further. For now, he just wanted to focus on getting though the next 24 hours.


	3. Chapter 3

The alarm blared to life, driving away the blissful morning quiet.

Senses dulled from slumber, Noctis' only driving force was to silence the offending noise. He groggily shot out a hand to slam the snooze button. Wearily, he blinked at the clock, and his brain slowly puzzled together that it was morning, that it was time for him to get up.

 _Not yet…just not yet…_

His warm tangle of blankets was too comfortable, and his body begged him to remain still, to let his brain power down and let the pull of sleep encase him.

 _Seven more minutes…that's all…and then I'll get up…_

His eyelids slid closed, only to shoot open again as the alarm sounded a second time.

On autopilot he repeated the motion of hitting the snooze button, and then he glared at the clock. Time was betraying him somehow, speeding up and denying him a full rest.

 _Seven more minutes…that's all…and then I'll get up…_

When the alarm sounded for the third time, he considered hitting the snooze button again but soon dismissed the idea. If he drained away any more time in bed, he knew he'd have to forfeit his morning shower. Time, like so much in life, was a commodity. He only had so much to spend. His father had taught him that long ago.

He _had_ to get up. It was, after all, a school day, and Prompto would be waiting for him at the corner coffee shop.

Bright eyed and bushy tailed, Prompto would've already woken up, donned his exercise gear, had his morning run, checked in on his elderly neighbor, taken a shower, eaten breakfast and walked the mile or so from his house to the coffee shop. He'd undoubtedly be chipper as heck and yammering on about something that currently had his excitement level off the charts.

Noctis rolled his eyes and turned off his alarm.

Seeing as Prompto would have made an enormous effort detouring well out of his way just to keep Noct company in the morning, it was a little bit unreasonable for Noct to be late when he only lived a block and a half from the coffee shop.

He'd been late a couple of times in the past, and though Prompto never said anything, Noctis still felt horrible about it.

There was something upsetting about how anxious Prompto looked standing there all alone. Then there was that overwhelming relief that washed over the guy's face when he finally noticed Noct's arrival. It was like Prompto was just so damn _grateful_ that Noct had showed up at all.

 _It shouldn't be like that…_

Prompto should have been upset or at least given Noct a hard time, but he just grinned and happily greeted Noct, acting as if he hadn't been a nervous wreck mere moments before.

 _Don't know what I did to deserve a friend like that. Definitely too nice for his own damn good._

Of course, being late also meant there would be a lecture from Ignis. If he wasn't ready, cappuccino in hand, when the Advisor pulled up to give them a ride to school, there would be no end to the tirade of displeasure Ignis would unleash.

Most of all, Ignis would stress how _worried_ he'd have been waiting for Noct.

It had been hard enough to convince Iggy that he didn't need an armed guard to escort him the 750 feet from his apartment to the coffee shop. He did, after all, have the ability to warp, had access to the Armiger, and had been well trained in self-defense. Plus Prompto was only a block and a half away and Ignis would probably already be waiting outside the coffee shop in his car. How much danger could he possibly be in?

Even so, Ignis still insisted that any time alone in public housed potential for danger, and that is was better to remain over vigilant than to fall prey to an ambush.

Grumbling to himself, Noctis sat up, but, before he could force himself to stand, his phone, sitting on his nightstand, rumbled. He picked it up and scanned the screen.

 **ChocoboButt:** Dude, you better be up now. I know you've already hit your snooze button at least twice. GET UP!

Noctis lazily tapped at the screen.

 **PrinceZZZZ:** i am up

Perhaps, he should have felt bad for the slightly terse message, but it was early. Everyone, including Prompto, knew Noct wasn't at his best in the mornings.

 **ChocoboButt:** Awesome, see you soon!

 _Too cheerful….much too cheerful for this early….even by text…_

Feeling as his body weighed a million pounds, Noctis heaved himself out of bed and trudged to his bathroom.

On autopilot, he went about his morning routine, half asleep as he did so. By the time he'd showered, dressed, styled his hair and gathered his school bag, his brain was finally starting to fully wake up.

He grabbed a muffin, made fresh by Ignis the previous day, from the counter and headed for the door.

As he locked up his apartment and started down the hall to the elevator, he thought over the dinner he'd had with his father the night before.

It hadn't gone as he'd hoped.

Prompto had mentioned to Noctis, some weeks earlier, that he was thinking of trying out for the Crownsguard.

The announcement had been something that had both surprised Noct and seemed like a natural course of events. With such a close friendship, it felt right to have Prompto in a position in which he really could always be at Noctis' side, and yet…

Prompto was the one person in Noctis' life that wasn't with him because of an obligation or duty. There was a freedom and frailty to their friendship that made it feel special. At any time Prompto could decide that Noctis' life as Crown Prince was too public, too chaotic, and he could leave. But, the blond kept choosing to stay, and that meant more to Noct than he could ever describe.

What would happen once Prompto no longer had that choice? What if he became a Crownsguard and was tied to Noctis by duty? Would everything change? What if he came to resent the choice? What if it was too much for him? What if he got hurt?

Noctis cleared away the negative thoughts, focusing on what Prompto had _actually_ said to him about being a Crownsguard.

' _Dude, I want this…I want to be able to be by your side, like Ignis and Gladio, for always. Nothing is gonna change that. I know it's a lot of responsibility, and I don't want anyone to think I'm jumping in blind. I've thought about this for almost a year now. It's what I want to do.'_

That had been enough to lessen Noctis' worries, but not to disband them totally.

Even so, he'd made the decision last night to address the possibility of Prompto becoming a Crownsguard with his father at dinner.

Regis, for the most part, remained quiet. The few times he spoke, he only said that Prompto was not an ideal candidate, that he didn't have the specialized training most new hopefuls did, and that he seemed to have a plethora of phobias that might hold him back.

In the end, Regis conceded that he could not stop anyone from taking the entrance exam, so Prompto was free to do as he wished.

Noctis knew better though.

For those who passed the exam and started Crownsguard training, there was still the danger of being dismissed by the King. Regis had the final say in who would be granted the title of Crownsguard, and though he rarely found reason to reject anyone who'd made it through the entirety of the training, it had happened before.

Noctis stepped onto the elevator and thought of Prompto being dismissed after struggling through the exam and training. That lone image he conjured up of his shattered friend made his chest tighten. He was sure that kind of rejection would absolutely crush the normally cheerful blond.

If that happened, Noctis knew he wouldn't be able to forgive his father. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, it would be a trifling matter to hold a grudge with the King of Lucis over, but still…

The elevator arrived at the lobby and Noctis absentmindedly stepped off and headed down the hallway toward the building's grand doors. He gathered his wits enough to gesture a wave at the security guard before he pushed open the heavy double doors and stepped into the crisp morning air.

From his pocket, his phone rumbled once again, and he pulled it loose and scanned the message.

 **Ignis:** I'm afraid I'm running late this morning. There are several accidents on my usual route. The traffic is quite backed up. Please wait for me inside the coffee shop.

 _Great…and we have a test this morning in Calculus…I so don't want to be late for that._

Noctis almost mentioned the urgency to Ignis, but he was sure his Advisor was already well aware of the situation, and he was probably on edge.

 **PrinceZZZZ:** No problem. We'll sit tight until you get there.

After sliding his phone back into his pocket, he started making his way down the street.

Slowly, his thoughts traveled back to what his father had said at dinner, and at what the man hadn't said. Why had he been so reluctant to talk about Prompto becoming a Crownsguard? Why did it…

The question forming in his head was interrupted by a gentle whimper coming from the lone alley Noctis was walking by.

He paused a moment and then instinctually took a single step toward the noise before halting. It sounded like a child, but the sound was muffled.

"Hello? Is anyone there? Are you in trouble?" Noct asked, keeping his tone calm, soothing. "I only want to help."

He took another step, eyes warily scanning his surroundings.

There were murky puddles and damp pages of newspaper decorating the shoddy cobblestone roadway. Steam hissed from pipes running out from the backside of the buildings, and the smell of mud, restaurant grease and urine hung heavily in the air.

This was no place for a child.

Noctis' gaze fixed on the row of three small green dumpsters. That was the only place that the child could be.

He took another hesitant step forward. There was no way he could turn away if a child was in trouble, but something felt off. For as much as he wanted to spring forward and provide help, some small part of him warned that this narrow alleyway could suddenly close in on him somehow.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he sent a quick text message to Prompto and Ignis.

 **PrinceZZZZ:** I hear a kid in the alley behind Gloria's Pizza. I'm gonna take a look…

Before he could change his mind, he put his phone away, feeling it rumble with replies as soon as it was snug in his pocket. He already knew what the messages said. Ignis would be telling him not to go any further, and Prompto would be saying that he was on his way over.

 _They'll be here soon enough. It won't hurt to have a look._

Noctis hurried to the first dumpster and threw back the lid, but he found nothing, save for the stench of putrefied garbage. He knew he was closer though. The low whimper was more pronounced and certainly sounded as if it was echoing slightly from inside an enclosed space.

He moved to the next dumpster and listened carefully. This was the one. He was sure of it.

"I'm going to help you out, okay. I'll help you get home to your mom and dad, yeah?" He said as he eased the lid open.

As light poured into the darkened space, Noctis squinted down at the contents of the container.

In the middle of the dumpster, a lone tape player was softly emitting a low child-like whimper.

 _Shit…_

Before he had time to turn, to warp, to do _anything_ , a pinprick of pain flared in his neck and everything immediately went dark.

* * *

Prompto had made it to the coffee shop early that morning.

He'd felt jittery all night after his conversation with Cor about joining the Crownsguard. He just couldn't believe he was really going to do this. He'd been thinking about it a lot over the past year, but maybe some small part of him kept thinking he'd chicken out and not bring it up at all with Cor, or that Cor would flat out reject the request, but he didn't!

 _I can't believe I'm going to do this…_

Visiting the Chocobos the evening before had helped calm down Prompto's nerves a little, but once he was back home, with no one to distract him from his anxiety, he became a nervous wreck. Sleep had been evasive, leaving him lying in bed for most of the night staring at the ceiling, wondering if he really had it in him to pass the exam and make it through the Crownsguard training.

So, he'd felt a little rougher than normal that morning. His run had been a bit harder to make it through, his neighbor's rubbish bins had seemed a bit heavier, and his hair refused to be styled properly.

After all that, he decided to pamper himself with a special morning coffee.

He didn't often order anything from the coffee shop. His budget was usually too tight to splurge very often, but sometimes it was worth it – especially if he wanted to stay awake through the entirety of his upcoming Calculus test.

He had seated himself at a table, savoring his caramel macchiato as he waited for Noctis.

Somehow, he'd finally gotten his worries to silence, and he sat, zoning out, staring at the rather bland pictures of landscapes hanging on the coffee shop walls.

The chorus of ' _khews'_ suddenly coming from his phone woke him back up though.

He pulled his phone out, fearing that it was Noctis saying he was running late. That would mean sitting alone in the coffee shop, trying not to look pitiful as he drank his macchiato and kept scanning the door every time the bell chimed announcing a new customer.

But it wasn't a text from Noct. It was from Ignis, saying that _he_ was running late.

Prompto frowned, trying to recall the last time Ignis had ever been late for anything.

Nothing came to mind.

Noctis replied to Ignis' message before Prompto could, so he decided to remain silent on the subject. The message was more for Noctis anyways, _right?_

With a shrug, Prompto let that new spring of self-doubt slide away. There was too much stress on his plate already without him over-thinking stupid stuff like text messages.

He set his phone on the table and, to help distract himself, started up one of his favorite pastimes – people watching.

The coffee shop was packed, so there was an abundance of entertainment. Most of the customers were just sleepy eyed men and women, grumpily waiting for their morning caffeine. They weren't very active, save to shuffle forward as the line moved. Almost everyone had their noses in their phones, as if they were trying to block out the rest of the world. They almost looked like some weary pack of zombies, shuffling stiffly through their morning routines.

Prompto watched with mild fascination for a while until another set of 'kwehs' erupted from his phone.

A few people who'd been quietly standing in line glared in his direction, as he sheepishly picked up his phone.

Squirming in his seat, he read the new text.

 **PrinceZZZZ:** I hear a kid in the alley behind Gloria's Pizza. I'm gonna take a look…

 _Ignis late? A kid in the alley? Something is definitely not okay here._

Heart pounding in his chest, Prompto grabbed his bag and typed a hasty message as he scrambled for the exit.

 **ChocoboButt:** Wait 4 me…on the way…

Sprinting down the street, he skidded to a halt as he neared the alleyway. Another wave of panic flooded through him as he realized that Noct hadn't waited. He really hadn't expected Noct to heed his request, but he had _hoped_ he would.

He rounded the corner just in time to see Noctis' slumped form being hauled down another connecting alleyway by two burly looking thugs.

The goons hadn't seen Prompto, or they hadn't acted as if they had.

Prompto didn't think then, he merely started moving, making it to the junction of the two alleyways. Everything in him screamed at him to rush forward, to help Noct. If he could distract these guys long enough, Ignis might have enough time to weave through the traffic and save Noctis.

All plans he had of attack came to a crashing halt as he peered around the corner. There were four guys in total, all standing around a steely blue sedan, and at least two of the dudes had guns.

A burlap sack was placed over Noct's head and his wrists bound. Then, the Crown Prince was roughly shoved in the trunk of the sedan.

Prompto flinched as one of the men slammed the trunk lid shut.

 _What do I do? What do I do?_

He had to force down the panic, to make himself focus, but it seemed to be a losing battle. All he could think about was how Gladio would be able to fight off _anyone_ to protect Noct, or how Ignis would have already come up with a plan. They had the strength and the knowhow to keep Noct safe. If either of them had been there, maybe the Prince would have a chance, but he only had Prompto…he just needed more than that… _didn't he?_

 _Okay, I'm all he's got right now…so I've got to do my best…just gotta think…and…oh yeah!_

Quickly, he pulled out his phone and took a picture of the car, being sure that the license plate was clearly visible. Then, he texted the photo to Cor, Gladio and Ignis.

Hands shaking, he was able to get one further text out before the car's engine started up and it slowly began to roll away.

 **ChocoboButt:** noct kidnap im gonna folw

He was already running as he slid his phone back into his pocket. He knew the alleyway the car was on fed into a one-way street, so he knew the intersection it would end up at. It was a longshot, but maybe he could keep up with the car for a while and keep texting the location to Ignis and the others?

Yeah, it might have been a stupid plan, but it was all he had at the moment…

 _Please be okay, Noct….just hang in there, buddy. I'm going to do my best to find out where they're taking you._


	4. Chapter 4

Ignis had come to believe that he was a man who'd remain calm and rational in any crisis situation. He had, after all, spent most of his life training to deal with high stress scenarios.

Several tense events in the past, such as Noctis sneaking out of the Citadel with Iris when they were quite young, had tested Ignis on this matter, and he had, to his own satisfaction, acted with the utmost clarity and precision in his efforts to locate the wayward youths.

However, that particular talent seemed to dissipate as his eyes fixed on the photo of the mysterious sedan and the hasty text message Prompto had sent.

 **ChocoboButt:** noct kidnap im gonna folw

Shock overtook him, numbing his senses, dulling his thought process.

 _This cannot be…_

Perhaps this was a prank Noct and Prompto were playing, albeit _not_ an amusing one.

No, surely they would know better than to joke over such matters as this. They could be hellions at times, putting plastic lizards in his salads and changing his ringtone to that unfortunate sound of flatulence, but they'd never do anything to this extreme.

Ignis' gaze scanned the text once more, a deeper dread settling over him, as he took in the urgency of what had been typed. Prompto had never been very formal with his texts, but this was sloppy even by his typically lackadaisical standards.

 _This is happening._

In a near fluid motion, Ignis was out of the car and barreling down the roadway.

If he wished to be of any help to Noctis and Prompto, he would have to abandon his vehicle. In this gridiron of traffic, nothing was moving. In fact, everything had been at a complete standstill for at least the last four minutes.

A barrage of curses and shouts were directed at Ignis as he left his vehicle. The anger in the air was palpable, but he ignored all the threats and kept moving. The car hardly mattered. It could be towed and crushed for all he cared.

His only concern was for Noctis.

Mind racing, he plotted his course. If he took 1st Street and cut across to Crystal Way, he could reach Noctis in five to seven minutes.

 _That's not good enough._

Even with the cacophony of horns, shouting and his own pulse thrumming in his eardrums as he ran, Ignis still managed to hear the steady ring of his phone.

Not pausing or even slowing his mad pace, he pulled out his phone, glanced only briefly at the caller id and then answered.

"Gladio, I received the text as well. I'm on my way, but I had to abandon my vehicle. I'm on foot and still at least five minutes away from Noctis. Traffic is at a standstill, and I'm starting to suspect that was somehow done deliberately.

"Yeah, well, there's more bad news." Gladio growled. "There's been a bomb threat called in to the Citadel and a few low explosions have sounded, but we think it's just fireworks being aimed at the building. Still, the area is being evacuated and the Glaives and Crownsguards are on high alert."

Ignis tensed, suddenly understanding the direness of the situation.

A threat to the Citadel meant all available Glaives and Crownsguards would be called to duty. Most would go to either the Citadel or the wall, and with traffic as backed up as it was, it would be hard to direct any aid quickly to Noctis' current location.

"This, it would appear, is a very well-orchestrated kidnapping," Ignis managed. His breath was starting to strain, and his sides burned as he ran on. He was really regretting having _three_ cups of Ebony that morning.

Another voice sounded over the line, but Ignis couldn't quite make out what it had said.

"Cor says to hurry the hell up and do what you can." Gladio relayed. "We're on our way. It may take some time to get there, but we are going to get there…We'll get Noct back, okay?"

"Of course," Ignis answered, but truthful, he had his doubts. They had been woeful underprepared for this attack, and he was afraid Noctis would suffer greatly for that. "I need to go…I'll call you when I can."

He didn't wait for an answer. He simply hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket. At the moment, he couldn't afford to waste any of his energy on the call.

Stomach churning, lungs burning, Ignis ran on.

* * *

It took a while for Prompto to notice the pattern, but once he did, the vehicle's route was a little easier to predict.

The goons kept to the backstreets, steering clear of any major intersections – probably, Prompto reasoned, to avoid traffic cameras. Fortunately, this slowed down the kidnappers' movements, and Prompto was, thankfully, mostly able to keep pace with the car.

He'd lost track of it a time or two, causing him to have to hazard a guess as to which direction they might have taken.

Seized with elf-doubt and anxiety, his treacherous thoughts whispered of failure and guilt, but, just as his grief was about to consume him, he managed to spot the sedan again.

 _Keep it together, Prompto. Noct is counting on you._

Muscles burning, he took every short cut he knew. He jumped fences, ran through backyards, he did _everything_ he could to keep pace with that car.

He wasn't careful with his movements, focused only on keeping his momentum going. When it was all over, he knew his body would ache, that he'd be littered with bruises, but that didn't matter at the moment. Adrenaline pumping, he couldn't feel any of the pain.

He considered sending another text to Iggy, Gladio and Cor, but he was too afraid to take his eyes off the vehicle he tracked. If he missed even one turn, Noct would be gone for good.

 _I'll get a message out as soon as I can. I will…_

Twice more he almost lost the car. Only dumb luck had aided him then, but the constant strain, both mentally and physically, was wearing him down. Stamina failing, he pushed himself on, knowing that he'd be on the verge of collapse soon enough.

Finally, in a quaint suburb, a near maze of cul-de-sacs and rows of identical houses, he realized the vehicle was nowhere in sight. Frantically, he rounded a corner just in time to witness a garage door finish its descent, but that was all he saw.

 _Did they go in there? Should I look or should I keep searching? What if I miss them and they leave the area? What if they're in there and Noct is in trouble?_

He paced for a few seconds, uncertain whether he should keep desperately searching the almost indistinguishable roadways, or if he should spend a few precious moments investigating the house.

 _Should I text the guys, let them know where I'm at? What if Noct isn't in this neighborhood though? What if I was wrong? What if I'd started following the wrong car?_

It struck him then, how _any_ choice he made could end up dooming Noct. His arms and legs shook as that sickening thought ate away at him.

After several false starts either toward the house or away from it, Prompto finally came to a decision.

 _I hope this is the right thing to do, Noct. I just…want you to be safe._

As swiftly and discreetly as he could, he skirted around the side of the house. Pulse racing, he dropped to his hands and knees as he heard voices from inside. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but it was obviously male voices and they sounded angry.

Hesitantly, Prompto crawled on, stopping once he came to a darkened window. He waited, listening carefully, and only after a short span of silence did he dare raise his head to peer in the window.

The bedroom was dark. The walls were bare, and closet left open and empty save for a few hangers that had been left behind. In the middle of the room, a lone bed remained, stripped of its blankets, pillows and sheets.

Prompto's gaze quickly scanned the room and settled on one lone figure.

There, lying on a bed, burlap sack still over his head and wrists still bound, was Noctis.

Relief and concern battled together within Prompto. He knew where Noct was, and that was good, right? But, Noct wasn't even close to safe yet…so no?

Prompto tapped gently on the glass.

He wasn't sure what he expected. Noct didn't budge. Everything about the Prince screamed that he was out cold. That disappointment hit Prompto hard. If Noct was awake, this wouldn't have felt like such an isolating, hopeless endeavor.

 _Now what do I do?_

Trembling, Prompto reached out and placed his hands on the window frame. Slowly, he started to push, and, to his utter surprise, the window slid open.

 _Oh sweet Six, thank you! Thank you!_

He must have done something right in this life to have this sudden string of good luck. Whatever it was, he hoped it would hold out long enough to get Noct to safety.

As quietly as he could, he crawled through the window and made his way to the bed. He removed the burlap sack from Noct's head and untied the rope binding his wrists. Then, he quickly checked the Prince for injuries.

Noct was pale, more so than usual, but, besides that, he looked to be okay…just unconscious.

Prompto was used to see Noct out cold, as he seemed capable of falling dead asleep just about anywhere. This was just like that, _right?_ It shouldn't feel so weird. It was just like he was sleeping…like it was a normal day…

Fidgeting in place, Prompto frowned down at his friend. This _wasn't_ like all those other times. This was horrible and terrifying, and Noct somehow looked so helpless and frail as he lay there.

Even though he was sure it would do no good, Prompto sat Noct up and gave him a gentle shake.

"Come on, buddy," he whispered. " _Please_ , just wake up for me. Please? I don't think I can do this alone."

Noct gave no answer. He simply flopped around in Prompto's hold. Seeing that the Prince was obviously not about to wake up any time soon, Prompto gently set him back down.

"I don't have the strength to haul you out of here, dude. I'm not Gladio…"

 _Shoot! Gladio, Ignis and Cor…I haven't sent them another text yet! So stupid…_

He fumbled with his phone, clawing it out of his pocket and frantically typing out the text.

 **ChocoboButt:** 24357 NE shipland way…whte house grn trim…hurry!

The description of the house really wasn't going to do much good. Every darn house in the area was some shade of white with green trim.

Prompto stared at the screen a moment, wondering if he'd get a response, but then he realized that he was possibly wasting what precious little time he had. After silencing his phone, he pocketed it and started scanning the room once more.

There was nothing that he could have used as a weapon. After all, he doubted very much that a plastic hanger would be of much use against a guy with a frigging gun.

 _How do I get us out of this? What can I possibly do to get us away from these guys?_

"Noct," he was whispering again. Yeah, it was probably a bad idea, but it made him feel better, less lonely. "I can't take you out the window without making a ton of noise, and even if I could get you out, I'm wiped. I wouldn't be able to get you very far at all before those guys came looking."

He paused and tried to fight back the tears starting to sting his eyes. Why had he thought he could be a part of the Crownsguard? What had he been thinking?

"I-I can try to fight those guys," Prompto added, his voice cracking a bit. "I don't think it'll help much…but I guess I could try."

He imagined the fight, but no matter how he played out the scenario, it was simply him being mowed down by all the thugs. It would happen in a flash. Yeah, he might get lucky and get the jump on one of them, but, in the end, it wouldn't be enough.

"I'm not sure how to get us out of this," Prompto admitted quietly. "I don't think I can."

And then it struck him. He _couldn't_ get _them_ out of this.

Swallowing down the new lump of dread in this throat, Prompto walked over to the window, shut it, then returned and sat Noct up once again.

"Okay…I've…um…got a plan…" Prompto mumbled as he stripped Noct's hoodie off. "It _might_ work…and well, it will keep you safe if it does."

He set Noct back down and then started tugging the Prince's boots off his feet.

"I'm just gonna have to borrow some of your duds…and…uh…well…you might not get them back…sorry."

A tangle of pure dread started forming in Prompto's stomach, but he did his best to ignore it, to keep at the task at hand. He had to do this…for Noct.

After he freed the boots, Prompto carefully, quietly, slid Noct off the bed and onto the floor.

"It's been nice," Prompto said sadly, "being your friend. I'm glad, no matter what happens…I'm glad we met."

As gently as he could, he pushed Noct as far under the bed as he could.

"Now, do me a favor," Prompto whispered, "just keep real quiet, okay, buddy?"

He couldn't stop the tears now. He let them fall as he took off his own shoes and shoved them under the bed with Noct. Then, he crawled onto the bed, put on Noct's boots and his hoodie, pulled out his phone and sent one more text to Gladio, Ignis and Cor.

 **ChocoboButt:** noct under bed…im decoy…

After pocketing his phone, Prompto hastily looped the rope around his own wrists and did his best to tie a knot. It was sloppy and loose, but if no one really paid attention, he might get away with it.

Heart pounding, he shakily grabbed the burlap sack and slid it over his head.

Some small part of him, focused on self-preservation, screamed at him to get up, to clamber out the window to freedom, but he quieted down that feral pull of panic and fear as he lay down in the same positon he'd found Noct in earlier.

Hot breath filling the confines of the cloth around his head, tears still softly making their way down his cheeks, Prompto closed his eyes and willed his body to relax–to go limp.

With any luck, this crazy plan would work, and Noct would be safe. That's all that mattered, right? That Noct was safe?


	5. Chapter 5

Gladio cursed and lowered his phone. He hadn't expected Iggy to hang up so suddenly. It left him feeling even more cut off and disjointed from everything that was happening.

"Ignis is on foot…" he grumbled, giving Cor a sideways glance. "… _and_ he's still at least five minutes out from where Noct was nabbed."

Hounded by his sense of duty, Gladio clenched his fists and let the warm flow of angry anxiety fill him. They needed to get to Noct faster. Five minutes was too long – they'd be too late.

For his part, Cor frowned but didn't take his eyes off the road. Instead, he turned the vehicle sharply, veering down yet another side street, causing a tire to clip the curb in the process. Gladio tensed, feeling as if his teeth were about to rattle out of his skull from the reckless maneuver.

"He's still closer than we are," Cor replied evenly, seeming as if he hadn't noticed the incident with the curb.

Gladio eyed the Marshal then.

There had been something alarming about the man's reaction to this scenario. He'd remained calm and focused as he picked Gladio up at the front gates of the Citadel, and he'd expertly instructed Gladio to call in and run the license plate that Prompto had provided via text, _but…_

Bubbling and raw, Gladio could sense something dangerous lurking beneath the surface of the man's facade. It hung in the very air around Cor and was more than evident in the deathly glint in the Marshal's eyes.

Whatever storm was brewing inside the Immortal, Gladio thanked the Six that he wasn't about to be on the receiving end of it. Whoever messed with Noctis and Prompto would not be walking away from this unscathed.

"Any word on that plate?" Cor asked, his tone still too eerily calm, controlled.

For what felt like the hundredth time, Gladio checked his text messages.

There was nothing more from Prompto, and his fingers still itched to try calling or texting the kid, but they didn't know what kind of situation he was in at the moment. If he was hiding and his phone hadn't been silenced, Gladio's attempt at communication could be Prompto's undoing.

As he scanned the screen, a new text popped up from the Glaive Nora.

 **Nora Fairfield:** The plates were stolen from another vehicle registered to a 90 year old shut in. No further leads.

"Plates are no good – stolen." Gladio relayed to Cor.

Besides his hands tightening on the wheel, Cor didn't respond.

For a while, they rode in tense silence, and Gladio found it the perfect setting to stew in his own self-anger and frustration. After all, he'd known of the lapse in security in Noctis' morning routine. He'd argued heatedly with the Prince about it, and he'd, eventually, let Noct have that small span of unguarded freedom.

 _Stupid, Gladio…real stupid…_

"We should have been training him harder," Cor said at last. "Prompto should have been more prepared for this, and that's _our_ fault."

Gladio opened his mouth, but his surprise kept him from finding his voice.

 _Prompto? He should have been more prepared?_

He blinked, trying to puzzle out why Cor was focused on the lithe blond. Shouldn't Noct's training been in question? Or Gladio's security measures?

"He's a civilian." Gladio replied finally. "He's not meant to…"

" _He_ is someone who has almost daily interactions with the Prince." Cor snapped. "That is bound to be a dangerous position to be in, and we've offered him little training. Worse, the training we've focused on is with a weapon he'll never have with him in his daily life. What good does that do?"

Gladio shrugged. Prompto just wasn't good at picking up any other form of weapons training besides the gun. Plus, it seemed a bit ridiculous to think that if Noct couldn't protect himself that somehow Prompto – soft, friendly, all-smiles ball of fluff that he was – could.

"Noctis has trained his whole life. His fighting skills, his magic…well…Prompto's efforts in battle would be like a drop of water in a bucket compared to the Princes'. Noct should be able to…" Gladio was again cut off by the Immortal.

"Prince Noctis has been abducted," Cor practically growled, "For all we know, he is completely incapacitated, and Prompto – who has very little practical hand-to-hand training and no access to weapons, is putting himself in a dangerous situation to rectify _our_ idiotic mistake in security."

There was no arguing with that. Gladio couldn't. Cor was right. Not only had they failed Noct, they had failed Prompto as well. The kid wasn't even close to prepared for this.

Gladio slumped in his seat. "After this, we can fix that, okay? We'll start really working on the kid's training."

It was a strained answer – one lacking in confidence. Hinted in the uncertainty was the underlying tone of ' _if we get them both back.'_ Gladio hated that, how he'd even let that thought take hold of him, but it was true.

For a moment, no answer came, but Gladio could see a strained frown trying to root itself onto Cor's face.

"He…" Cor started and then paused to draw in a deep breath. "Prompto asked if he could try out for the Crownsguard."

"Yeah, I know." Gladio replied, and flinched at the steely glance Cor gave him. Somehow, that had been the wrong answer.

"When did he tell you?" His gaze back on the road, Cor's voice was low, tense.

"He didn't," Gladio answered. "He told Noct a couple weeks back that he was _thinking_ about trying out for the Crownsguard. Noct talked to me about it later, but asked me to keep it on the down-low until Prompto worked up the courage to go for it."

Cor seemed to relax a bit then. "What are your thoughts on Prompto trying out for the Crownsguard?"

"Well, he's not…" Gladio started, but paused as his phone vibrated in his hand. Hastily, he read the new text.

 **ChocoboButt:** 24357 NE shipland way…whte house grn trim…hurry!

"What is it?" The pure demand was clear in Cor's voice.

"A text from Prompto. It says '24357 NE Shipland Way, white house green trim…hurry.' Do you need me to pull up the directions on my phone?"

"No, I know the area…" Cor replied, already seemingly changing their course to one that was slightly more northwest in direction.

Again there was silence. It was hardly a comfortable thing, but Gladio welcomed it nonetheless. He wasn't one who was much for conversation when a fight was clearly on the horizon. He appreciated having the quiet time to mentally prepare.

However, for as much as he wanted to keep quiet, there was something he had to make clear. He just had to find the right words to express his thoughts, if that was even possible.

"Prompto's probably not the best candidate for the Crownsguard, traditionally speaking," Gladio said. "He's not particularly strong, he's overly self-conscious, and he has had almost no prior fighting experience. The kid is soft and friendly without a sharp edge to him." Here he paused, trying to figure out what exactly he wanted to say next. "But…as a unit, we work together so much better with Prompto around. He softens our anger at each other and helps bridge bonds. He reminds us of what we are fighting to protect, of what matters in life. Maybe, instead of another hard-trained, irritable warrior, we need someone more like Prompto."

It wasn't perfect. Gladio's thoughts rang crisper than his words did, but he couldn't figure out how to translate them all accurately. He only hoped that what he said was enough, that it made sense to Cor.

"He could get hurt," Cor answered, and, for once, there was something almost fragile in the man's tone.

"He could," Gladio agreed, "but I think he understands that, and he's still willing to do this." He glanced at Cor, taking in the way the man's brow was knitted, his mouth pulled in a slight, tight frown. "I bet he'll try harder to succeed than any new recruit we've seen before. He may not be the best, but every time he falls down, he'll get back up again. I know we all want him to stay safe, but the kid should get a choice in his future. I think we at least owe him the option of trying."

"Yeah…" Cor replied softly.

Gladio thought about leaving it at that, but he couldn't help but open his mouth once more.

"Noctis will always be my number one priority to protect, as he will with Ignis, but, I promise you, Prompto will be second in line." Gladio flashed a sad smile at Cor. "It'd kill me to see anything happen to him."

Cor nodded, but if he was about to say anything, it was forgotten as Gladio's phone buzzed once again.

Scrambling to read the message, Gladio almost dropped his phone. Holding it up, gaze scanning the screen, he let out a soft curse, and, from the corner of his eye, he could see Cor tense.

"What is it?" There was a hint of panic in Cor's voice, but just a hint.

"It's from Prompto. It says 'Noct under bed. I'm decoy'"

Cor cursed as well, but said nothing further. Though the message was somewhat cryptic, they both had a fair idea of what it meant.

Prompto was trying to take Noctis' place. If it worked, Noct would be safe and Prompto would probably be killed. If it didn't work, Noct would still be taken and Prompto would probably be killed.

Gladio sat, numb, mind racing over this new information.

What Prompto was doing was mind-bogglingly brave, selfless and noble. It was the greatest sacrifice one could make for their prince. It was the act of a true Crownsguard.

And while there was a stir of pride in Gladio over the kid's actions, his frustration and anger seemed to take a stronger hold of him.

 _Stupid kid…shouldn't be doing this…shouldn't have put himself in that position…shouldn't have…_

In the end, he knew that was only his concern for Prompto spurring those feelings on. His friendship with the kid had clouded his sense of duty. What Prompto had done was right. It just felt wrong.

* * *

Voices, distant at first but growing louder, had Prompto tensing.

As he lay on his side on the bed, he knew he had to stay relaxed in order to mimic Noct's unconscious state, but it was proving to be more difficult than he thought.

His mind kept conjuring up the possible outcomes that could soon befall him, and, quite frankly, his imagination wasn't doling out many reassuring scenarios. When the goons discovered him, would they beat him? Would they kill him right away, or would they torture him first?

He shivered at that.

Besides crashing his bike a couple of years back, breaking an arm and leg in the process, he'd never really been hurt that badly. But, that was an accident – this would be on purpose. This would be _someone_ hurting him.

For a split second, a memory surfaced of cold, grey walls bathed in a sickly green light. There were people in lab coats, hurrying about, toting vials and needles and sharp, wicked instruments. None of them looked at him, and he knew that if they did, pain would come.

As the memory faded, Prompto felt a wave of exhaustion overtake him. The mental strain of his tension and fear was building, threatening to be his undoing.

Plus, now that he'd been laying still, his muscles decided it was a good time to remind him of how much they burned and ached from his run. His limbs were begging to stretch to work loose some of their tightness.

"Yeah, I'll get the brat." A man's voice suddenly sounded, raspy and muffled behind the still closed bedroom door. "You just get the rest of the gear in the car. We don't want to leave anything behind. No one need ever know we were here."

 _This is it…no turning back now…_

Once more, Prompto forced his aching muscles to relax, for his body to go limp.

The doorknob turned and the tale tell creak of hinges sounded.

Prompto fought back the urge to peek out from under the burlap sack to see what was happening. Having his sight obstructed, feeling the hot pool of his breath wafting around him, it was definitely triggering his claustrophobia.

 _It's okay…it's okay…just stay still…just stay still...you got this, Prompto…_

He could _feel_ the presence of people entering the room and it weighed on him, added to his panic, sent his fight or flight system into flight overdrive, but he, miraculously, remained still.

"Whatever, man," Another voice answered. "Here, don't forget the tape. Viktor did a shoddy job tying the kid up anyway."

"That idiot," the raspy voice replied, "I still can't believe he left the getaway car running in the garage all that time. If we would've transferred the Prince over to the second car and waited for the signal like planned the kid would've died and we would've been out a paycheck."

" _This_ ," the other said, "Is why I don't like working in groups. There's always at least one imbecile in the bunch. They either get people killed _or_ caught."

"Amen to that."

Footsteps sounded then, one moving away from Prompto and the other moving closer. Someone was leaving, but another was staying, drawing closer to the bed.

Silently, Prompto prayed that the guy didn't notice his jeans were different than Noct's. His were a dark, stonewash gray, whereas Noct's were a royal solid black. A complete clothing swap might have been better, but Prompt didn't know how long he had before one of the goons returned to the room.

The distinct sound of duct tape being pulled from a roll filled the room, and then a hand was on Prompto, roughly grabbing his feet, holding them up. It took every ounce of self-control he had, but he let himself be moved about like a ragdoll. Soon, a light pressure clung to his ankles, and the continuous sound of tape coming off a roll sounded.

Prompto's heart thrummed wildly in his chest. He was being bound. Something about that was terrifying in a way he couldn't quite understand. Again, that memory of the sickly green light surfaced, but he quickly drove it off. This wasn't the time to delve into old, nearly-forgotten wounds. He had to stay focused.

Briefly, he couldn't help but wonder about the memories flooded with the green light. Cor, in all the years they had hung out, still refused to tell him anything about where he'd been found. Part of him still wanted to know, but another larger piece of his soul seemed to rebel against gaining that knowledge. It was as if he knew it would be too much, too overwhelming for him to handle. Maybe it would break him completely.

Gradually, his thoughts turned to Noctis, under the bed, unconscious, totally relying on _him_ alone.

 _Keep it together…you can do this for Noct…yeah?_

After several long minutes, his feet were dropped back down, and the man was moving again.

It took everything in Prompto not to hold his breath, to just keep his chest evenly rising and falling, as if nothing was fazing him.

His hands were grabbed next, and he heard a low curse from the man standing over him.

"Viktor…this knot isn't worth a damn. Idiot…"

Again, the sticky noise of tape coming off a roll sounded, and a new pressure settled over Prompto's wrists. Thankfully, because of Noct's hoody, the tape didn't make much contact with bare skin, and Prompto's wristband was still fairly well hidden.

He'd expected his arms to be dropped back down to the bed as his feet had, but, instead, he was suddenly hefted upward. The motion surprising enough almost to elicit a yelp from him, but he managed to choke it back.

It took a few seconds for the man to seemingly find a comfortable way to carry Prompto. Finally, he had the limp form properly slung over his shoulder, and he started moving.

Silently, Prompto prayed the burlap sack stayed securely on his head. Even for as much as he desired to draw in one breath of fresh air, he knew it would be his and Noct's undoing if his face was seen.

His secret was kept though, as the sack didn't slip.

Through the thickly woven cloth, he could make out only streams of light and bits of color but no more than that. He tried, at first, straining his eyes to make sense of the kaleidoscope of disjointed information he could see, but that only made his already queasy stomach turn further.

Finally, he closed his eyes, all his attention focused on the gently sway of the man's walk.

Memories of his father carrying up to bed when he was little flooded back to Prompto, but that had been so different, hadn't it? There had been love and warmth there, whereas here he felt clouded with fear and loneliness.

Suddenly, Prompto was shifted. He opened his eyes again, catching sight of something yellow through the burlap. Then, he was thrown down. He landed on his side, curled slightly in a fetal positon.

The impact hurt, but only enough to get a nearly silent huff from him. Either the man carrying him hadn't heard, or he hadn't cared, as no hands immediately reached down to check on him.

Prompto lay still, waiting in the silence for some hint of what was happening. He could feel a stiff carpet beneath him, and wherever he was smelled of plastic and was just a touch musty.

He thought he heard voices, but they were so quiet. So focused on the muted sounds, Prompto was vastly unprepared for the thunderous slam that sounded above him. Coupled with that was the complete loss of light.

He'd flinched at the sound, and his breath was coming in hard, ragged gulps.

Tentatively, he reached out, shaky hands meeting a carpeted wall. He let his fingers trail up to the cold metal above him. There wasn't much room to move. The space was so small…so very small…

 _I'm in a car trunk._

He was hyperventilating, as his panic started to take over.

A voice in his head, laced with an inhumanly terror, screamed at him to start pounding on the trunk lid with all his might. It begged him to get those men to open the trunk, to let him out. Gods, nothing mattered as long as he could get out.

But, that wasn't true. Noct mattered. Noct mattered more than he did, more than his stupid fear did.

It took every ounce of restraint he had, but Prompto kept himself still. Crying quietly, letting silent tears roll down his face.

Only after the car started moving did he dare let his hands start moving, reaching for his pocket.

It was hard to free his phone with the tape encasing his wrists and part of his hands. He had only the use of his fingertips, but that had been enough.

He brought the phone closer to his face and tapped the screen so that the trunk was illuminated. The brightness probably would have been too much at first if not for the burlap sack still over his head.

Reaching up, he pulled the bag off his head and took a deep breath – it was better, less stale, but nowhere near as satisfying as Prompto had wanted. His lungs screamed for _fresh_ air, not something warm and stagnant.

Prompto's panic was ebbing slightly now that he had light, but he knew it wouldn't dissipate all the way – not so long as he was still trapped within this small space.

He scanned his surroundings, taking note of the lack of items present. Everything, it seemed, had been cleared away. There wasn't even a tire iron, jack or spare tire to be found. A brief glimmer of hope surfaced though as he found the emergency trunk release.

Without thinking, he yanked on it, but nothing happened.

He blinked at it dumbly for a moment before yanking again.

 _They must have disabled it…_

Only then did he realize that he hadn't actually had a plan of what he was going to do had the trunk popped open. His hands and legs were still bound, so it wasn't like he was going to get very far on foot.

He could feel his face flush hot with embarrassment. He was thankful, at least, that no one had been around to witness his stupidity.

He squirmed then, trying to work himself free from the tape, but it was no good. The layers were too thick. It would have to be cut away, and he didn't have anything that could do that.

Feeling trapped and utterly helpless, he pulled his phone close and carefully chose a number from his contact list.

It rang twice before it was picked up.

* * *

Cor hadn't even fully stopped the car before Gladio jumped out and was running full speed at the house.

He could understand the young Amicitia's concern, but brash actions were not well-suited for every scenario.

 _So much for a tactical advance…_

Thankfully, Gladio hadn't been as thick as to kick down the front door.

Instead, he quickly skirted the building and found an unlocked entrance in the back. Cor trailed behind, keeping a watch for anyone trying to get a drop on them.

Everything remained quiet though.

Slowly, they made their way through the building.

The sedan from Prompto's text was in the garage, its engine still warm.

Most rooms were totally unfurnished, save for a couple of folding chairs and a stained recliner. The largest piece of furniture they found was the lone bed in a back room.

Gladio crept toward it, almost as if he was afraid to glance underneath.

The big man got down on his hands and knees, and Cor, standing in the room's doorway, lost sight of him.

A huffed sigh, something both mixed with relief and dread, sounded from Gladio, and then he slowly stood up with Noctis in his arms. The Prince's boots were gone, so that his feet were clad only in his black socks. From Gladio's left hand, Prompto's shoes were limply held.

"Is he hurt?" Cor asked, though his eyes remained fixed on Prompto's shoes.

Gladio shook his head. "No, I think he's just drugged, but we'd better get him looked over." He paused, a grimace crossing his face. "I only found Prompto's shoes…he must have…he must be…"

Cor turned away and started walking. "Let's get His Highness out of here, in case they discover their error and try to return."

Their duty to the royal family came first. A cold stone of loss pressed into Cor's heart. He tried to wall himself off to it, to summon that numbness he was so used to encasing himself in when his men would die in the heat of battle, but it would not come. The grief just kept slowly pouring in.

They made their way out the front door, knowing it exposed them more, but eager to get the Prince to Cor's car and away from danger as quickly as possible. It was then, though, as they stood in the middle of the front yard, that the steady roar of an engine tore through the quiet of the neighborhood, and a lone motorcycle came barreling down the road straight toward them.

* * *

Thoroughly winded, Ignis surveyed the alleyway where Noctis' abduction occurred. Someone passing by, no doubt on their way to work, gave him an odd look, but kept to their own business.

Hair disheveled, sweat stains streaking his meticulously ironed shirt, brow damp with perspiration, Ignis knew he must have been quite the frightful sight, but that hardly mattered. His only concern was for his two wayward wards.

He found Prompto and Noctis' abandoned school bags and the Prince's crushed cellphone, but that was all. The two youths were gone.

Tendrils of panic started threading over Ignis, but he fought them back. He had to remain alert, ever-ready to act in a moment's notice. There was still a chance. They could still be found safe.

Ignis paced the alley, feeling very much like a caged animal. His eyes scanned his surroundings again, nearly burning from the intensity of it, but he could puzzle out no answers as to what he should do next.

He was just about to pull out his phone and call Gladio back when he received a new text.

 **ChocoboButt:** 24357 NE shipland way…whte house grn trim…hurry!

 _Astrals, that's almost ten minutes from here on foot._

His resolve took a slight hit then.

Throat dry, a dull burn still throbbing in his chest, muscles trembling, Ignis didn't know how much more he could give at the moment. He'd pushed too hard during his last trek.

Still, as long as he had _anything_ left in him, he had to try. With any luck, somewhere along his route he could find another mode of transportation.

After conferring with his phone to assure he knew the proper location of the address Prompto had listed, Ignis started off.

Calling Gladio and getting an update on his and Cor's location would have helped settled Ignis' nerves, but he knew that speaking at the moment was beyond him. It was a struggle enough to simply draw in the breath his body needed. His lungs ached, greedily pulling in air but seemingly not drawing what they needed from it.

 _I swear, if we all make it through this, I will re-evaluate my morning Ebony habit…_

Five minutes in to his run and his right calf cramped horribly, and though he tried to keep limping along, he knew the attempt was desperately futile.

Ignis slowed to a stop, leaning hard against a road sign. Gingerly, he pressed his forehead to the cold pole and closed his eyes, letting his failure sink in.

It was then that he also received the next text message from Prompto.

 **ChocoboButt:** noct under bed…im decoy…

Even the aches and pains of his fatigued body could not mask the shock of dread Ignis felt then. Prompto was sealing his own fate with his rash, valiant actions. Without any assistance, the blond would, most likely, be executed.

The mere thought of Prompto dead, of him beaten and pale, unmoving and cold, had Ignis' near blinded with grief and despair. He hadn't felt this hollow knot of pain and sorrow since Noctis' injury as a child.

It was overwhelming. Something so horrible to imagine that Ignis had to rail against it, had to reject it wholly. It could not be! He would not let that happen!

Straightening himself up, Ignis drew away from the support of the pole and glanced around. On his own, he may not have had the energy to make it to his destination in a timely manner, but, with the right opportunity…

He soon spotted a remedy for his predicament.

After ten long strides, Ignis came face to face with a muscular young man stopped at a light, sitting astride a sleek motorcycle.

"My name is Ignis Scientia, and I require your vehicle for official Royal business. You will be reimbursed for any damage done or hindrances this action may cause you."

The man blinked, but his confusion was soon replaced with a deep, warning laugh.

"I don't think so, bud," he answered, waving Ignis off. "Get lost."

"Very well…" Ignis shrugged. He had hoped this wouldn't get physical, _but…_

In one swift move, Ignis had the man off the bike on the ground. Fortunately, the poor fellow seemed too stunned to react.

"I apologize," Ignis said, staring down at the man, "As I stated earlier, you will be reimbursed for any troubles this may cause you. I will be able to track down your information via this vehicle's registration."

It would have been wise to procure the helmet from the man's head, for safety reasons, but Ignis couldn't afford to give this situation time to escalate. He had to get moving.

Without heeding the red traffic light, he started off.

Vaguely, his mind warned him of the repercussions he would be facing for his actions. Commandeering citizen's possessions, even for official business, was not truly sanctioned. He would, when all was said and done, be facing some sort of reprimand. His unblemished personnel file would suffer, but he was fine with that, so long as he could save Noctis and Prompto.

Weaving in and out of traffic, driving on sidewalks and grass, he, once or twice, narrowly avoided clipping pedestrians. Internally, he chastised himself for the reckless behavior, but he still couldn't make himself slow down.

Time was his enemy. He knew that. The more that slipped by, the greater the danger both Noctis and Prompto were in.

As he neared the address Prompto had given, he realized his hands were starting to throb from the vice-like grip he'd had on the handles.

Nearing the house, he quickly spotted Gladio and Cor in the yard.

Ignis felt a faint wave of relief as he spotted Noctis slumped in Gladio's hold. The boy was pale, his eyes closed as if he were merely asleep.

 _He's safe…thank the Astrals!_

He pulled up, stopping just in front of the two men and turned off the motorcycle. Quick to dismount, he made his way to Gladio, so that he could get a better view of the Prince. All the while, he glanced about, half expecting to see a blond head suddenly emerge from hiding, but, much to Ignis' distress, Prompto did not appear.

"Is he injured?" Ignis asked, carefully putting two fingers to Noctis' neck to take his pulse. It was a bit low, but not alarmingly so.

"The Prince appears to be drugged," Cor answered, "but otherwise unharmed. Prompto though, is unaccounted for."

 _Then Prompto's plan succeeded…_

Ignis could feel that growing dark wave of grief build, threatening to come crashing down on him, but somehow, he managed to hold it at bay.

There was still hope. If they could find Prompto before the abductees learned of their mistake, then…

It was then that Ignis' phone rang. He had it out and pressed to his ear without even bothering to look at the caller ID.

For a moment there was silence on the line, then a sharp inhale of breath followed by, " _Iggy?"_

"Prompto!" Ignis tried not to focus on how both Cor and Gladio lurched forward, how eager they both seemed to snatch the phone from his hands. "Where are you?"

Another shaky breath sounded. "I-I'm in a t-trunk. I think the car is yellow. Maybe a taxi? I d-dunno, was hard to see through the burlap sack. Did you find Noct yet? Is he safe?"

"Yes, Prompto," Ignis answered softly, "We have Noct. He is safe, thanks to you."

A sad chuckled sounded through the line. "Good…t-that's good."

"Listen to me, Prompto." Ignis knew he had to keep the boy clam, focused. "There should be a latch somewhere in the…"

"I already tried the t-trunk release." Prompto paused, and Ignis could hear the boy shuffling about in the confined space. "It doesn't work. I-I think they j-jammed it somehow."

"Do you know how many turns the vehicle has made, or can you hear any sounds?" Ignis asked.

Another pause sounded. "I dunno," Prompto answered quietly. "I was kinda f-freaking out for a bit. Close spaces don't work out so w-well for m-me, yeah?"

Ignis scowled. How had he forgotten about Prompto's claustrophobia? This had to be hell on the boy.

"Can you do me a favor, Iggy?"

"Of course I can, Prompto. What do you require?"

Prompto chuckled again, there was a little more life in it, but it was still clipped with fear. "Besides a rescue?" The joy trailed off, the chuckle fading into a soft sigh. "Could you tell my mom and dad that I'm sorry? Tell them that I love them very much and that…that…they were the best parents I could have ever had, okay?"

Ignis' blood ran cold as he listened to Prompto start his farewells.

"And could you tell Cor that…that…just tell him thanks for everything. He'll know what I mean." Prompto continued. "I want Gladio to know how much it meant to have someone to jog with and goof off with…that he is…a good friend and a great Shield. Tell him this wasn't his fault, okay? I think he'll blame himself."

"Prompto, don't…" Ignis could get no more out before the boy started again.

"It's not your fault either, okay? Stuff happens, yeah?" Prompto drew in another shaky breath. "Thanks, Iggy, for all those times you were looking out for me. It meant a lot. Every time you cooked for us or made us go to bed, or all those times you took care of me when my parents were out, I don't think I can really tell you how special that was to me. It's like we're family…yeah? I know, that's cheesy, but…whatever."

"Prompto, we _are_ going to rescue you!" Ignis couldn't help the hint of sternness in his voice. This wasn't the time for goodbyes. He wouldn't let it end like this. They were going to save Prompto…they were….

"I know you'll try your best, Igs, but just in case, could you tell Noct not to be mad?" Prompto replied. "When he hears what I did, he'll be mad – first at me, then at himself and then at everyone. I-I don't want that. I want him to be happy. Maybe he won't be at first, but just remind him that's what I want. And…and tell him he was the best friend I ever had."

"Prompto, we'll find you okay?" Ignis was desperate now, eager to give the kid whatever comfort he could. "We can track your phone. It will take just a bit, but we can do that, okay?"

The faint sound of sniffles sounded, and Prompto swallowed down a sob. "Y-yeah…okay…s-ssorry. I'm n-not gonna lie, Iggy. I'm scared."

Prompto's quiet tone was too open, too honest. It nearly broke Ignis.

"Cor will call in your phone tracking now, okay?" Ignis paused gesturing toward Cor, but the man already had his phone out and was sternly commanding someone to ' _get it done, now!_ '

"I…I think we're stopping!" Prompto gasped, panic and fear clearly rising in his voice. "I-I have to go…I have to…I hear Chocobos. Iggy, Chocobos! Ah, _Six_ , they're getting out…"

Before Ignis could convince Prompto to simply mute the phone and put it in his pocket, he'd hung up.

"What…" Cor stepped forward. "…did he say?"

"His goodbyes," Ignis replied sadly and then looked up to meet the Marshal's gaze. " _And_ that he could hear Chocobos."

Ignis turned and was quickly astride the ' _borrowed'_ motorcycle once again.

"They're at the festival grounds." Cor stated, as he strode toward the bike.

"I believe so," Ignis answered as he started the engine. "The Chocobo ride is being dismantled today and the birds are being sent back to their farm before the fireworks start up tonight. It would be reasonable to assume that Noctis' assailants had planned to smuggle him out with the birds."

"Gladio," Cor called out, "I trust you can see to Prince Noctis. Ignis and I will take care of Prompto."

For his part, Gladio gave a curt nod. "Of course, see you soon."

With that, Cor settled himself onto the motorcycle behind Ignis.

"Get us there as quickly as you can." Cor growled. "I don't care how fast you go, or how many laws you break – just do it."

Ignis shivered at that. There was something cold and deadly in the man's voice. It was something almost inhuman.

"Understood," he answered before turning the bike and tearing down the quiet cul-de-sac at an already break-neck speed.

 _Hold on, Prompto, we're coming…_


	6. Chapter 6

Samson's patience was wearing thin.

Wiz was _not_ a man he enjoyed speaking with nor did he appreciate the news the simpleton had for him.

Still, Samson put on the most nonchalant expression he could muster as he spoke with the Chocobo rancher, but on the inside he was undeniably seething. One thoughtless volunteer forgetting a latch at the festival's Chocobo pen had disrupted so much of his carefully laid plan.

Posing as a truck driver, Samson listened patiently to Wiz's apologetic explanation of the situation.

"I know ya all are on a schedule, and it was sure kind of you to make it here so quickly after our own rig was waylaid, and I'm mighty sorry, but them birds are sure riled up, and we can't seem to get the last five captured to get them in the truck. I'm sure my boys can handle it, but it might take a bit longer, that's all."

Samson offered a strained smile, something he knew wasn't genuine enough nor entirely out of place.

"I owe you some apologies myself if I'm being antsy. I've just got a pick-up in Old Lestallum tomorrow morning, and, at this rate, even if I pull an all-nighter, what with unloading the birds at your place and all, I don't think I'll get there in time," Samson lied. "I really don't mean to be pushy, but this setback might cost me another hauling job. I mean maybe I should call it in to the main shop and tell them we need another driver? I was really hoping to get the pay for that job though. The roof has been leaking at home and the repairs are going to run a small fortune, but gotta keep the family dry, right?"

He added a weary chuckle to the act, and though he loathed playing the part of the backroads yokel, Samson admired how professionally he pulled off the performance. He really was quite compelling in the role.

And, the gauntlet of Wiz's emotions was oh-so-easy to read.

First there was empathy for the sob story Samson had laid out, then guilt for partially, though inadvertently, being the cause of this suffering, and then there was a new invigorated determination.

"Don't make that call just yet," Wiz replied with a lopsided grin. "By golly, one way or another, we'll get you on the road in the next half hour, I guarantee it!"

Samson prattled off some nonsense of appreciation as the rancher scampered off to aid in the hunt for the evasive birds. Thankfully, Wiz hadn't asked for _his_ help. That would have proven especially annoying.

Satisfied that he'd pushed the situation along as best he could, Samson turned and started wandering through the nearly deserted festival grounds.

Nothing would open back up until noon, giving workers time to pack up the Chocobo ride and set up the kiddy games that would be replacing it for the remaining three nights of the Kings of Old Celebration.

Under different circumstances, the Chocobos' escape might have served as a great distraction. However, seeing as Samson had a secret compartment installed in the truck beneath the livestock enclosure to house the unconscious Prince, it was currently not an ideal situation.

Until the birds were loaded, Samson had no choice but to wait.

 _Stupid birds…_

They'd already spoiled his plans once. How was he supposed to know they were shipped out _before_ the festivities were done? Just because the feathered beasts got spooked by a few minor explosions in the sky?

Yes, perhaps it was entirely his oversight for not researching the scheduled events more thoroughly, but that hardly stilled his ire. If anything, it only added to it.

Rarely did he make such blunders, and with this job being one of his largest, and hopefully last, the misstep was especially frustrating.

In the distance a horn blared and a Chocobo gave an angry squawk. Samson cringed at the sounds, silently praying the bird remained uninjured – not that he truly cared for its safety, he just couldn't bear any further setbacks.

After all, time was currently not something he could afford to waste.

He knew it wouldn't be long until the bomb threat he had called in to the Citadel was verified as false. The chaos and pandemonium caused would slowly quell, and the rag-tag group of rebellious teens that Viktor had armed with alarmingly loud fireworks would be apprehended.

And, so what if those youths had seen Viktor's face?

Even if they gave the Glaives a description of the man, they would never get a word out of him. Dead men rarely talked.

In fact, all four of the men Samson hired on would be dead, although he felt a pang of regret that Peter was mixed in with this lot. He'd been a last minute addition – one of Samson's more reliable workers, and not one he was entirely eager to dispatch.

Peter was smart, someone Samson had worked with quite often and actually admired. He wasn't so much a friend as a colleague – which, in Samson's view, was something much better. Friends were liabilities, after all, and colleagues were assets.

Killing Peter would be a shame, but this job was to be Samson's grand finale in the business. The payout would tide him over for the rest of his days, no matter how lavishly he wished to live.

So, he wouldn't need Peter again. Keeping the man alive served no purpose. Therefore, he needed to die. It was better that way – tying up loose ends. Samson liked to keep things as tidy as possible.

Nearing the end of the festival grounds, Samson eyed the dented taxi parked in the loading zone.

 _So, they made it._

He relaxed a bit then. Even though Peter had texted him with updates, even though he knew they'd made it to the safe house with the Prince, he still felt some granule of apprehension. Something felt off, but, if they'd arrived with no further setbacks, save for Viktor the idiot leaving their getaway car running in the garage for over an hour, what could possibly be amiss?

Still, Samson was eager to get to their rendezvous point and see with his own eyes that they had not failed him, but…

He had one final task to take care of before that.

* * *

"I…I think we're stopping!" Prompto gasped, fear pulsing through him. "I-I have to go…I have to…I hear Chocobos. Iggy, Chocobos! Ah, _Six_ , they're getting out…"

In a panic he hung up, instantly regretting severing that lifeline of comfort he had while communicating to Ignis. The abrupt solitude he felt highlighted the finality of what was soon to unfold. This was it.

In a state of shock, Prompto's hearing dulled. Everything was drowned out by the incessant pounding of his heart and labored breath. Still, even if he couldn't hear them, he was sure the goons were coming for him, that, at any moment, they'd pop the trunk open and discover _him._

His phone slipped through his fingers and he pawed at it, frantically shoving it back in his pants pocket.

 _At least I got to say goodbye…_

Attempting to still his trembling sobs of breath, he groped though the darkness, fingers seeking the rough touch of burlap.

Some horrible, defeated part of him questioned why he was even bothering with the ruse. Did it matter? The guys who took him were going to find out soon enough, right? He was going to die. They were going to kill him. Noct was safe now…so, did it matter?

 _I'm gonna die…like soon…_

Terror, all encompassing, devastating and frantic, took hold of him. He wanted to scream, to run, to do _anything._ He had to do something to drive that feeling away, to pry his thoughts back from that dark chasm, but he couldn't.

 _I don't want to die…please…please, anyone? I…I can't…this can't…_

Somehow, amidst his breakdown, his fingers brushed up against the burlap sack. Without thought, he mechanically pulled the bag back over his head, but he was still gasping for breath, body heaving with the effort.

He shifted through his memories, dredging up one of that would be of aid.

Ignis had once taught him breathing exercises when he had a panic attack on a Ferris wheel during an outing with the guys. He focused on that memory.

It had been humiliating to freak out on a _ride_ that had like no threat to it – especially with Gladio, Noctis and Ignis there to witness his fear, but they had only kindness to offer him. There was no teasing, no harsh words about his weakness.

 _Slow breath in…hold…slow breath out…hold…slow breath in…_

Prompto could hear Ignis' voice in his head, his cadence slow, heavy with concern and reassurance. Even if it was just imagined, it made him feel better.

His breathing evened out, calmed and the tremors wracking his body subsided.

Finally having gained some semblance of control, he lay quietly in the darkness and waited.

The minutes began to mount and still no one came for him. It really couldn't have been that long, perhaps five minutes, but, to Prompto, it felt like an eternity.

The wait gave him new hope though. If he could keep his identity unknown, maybe he'd buy Cor, Gladio and Iggy enough time to find him. Maybe he wasn't going to die.

A part of him still rebelled against that optimism. It saw the cruelty in clinging to a frail uncertainty. It warned of being prepared to face his fate like a man.

 _Stalling is worth a try though, right?_

It was during this mental argument that the trunk popped open.

Prompto stiffened slightly, but it must not have been enough to get anyone's notice.

Hands were on him then. They grabbed him by the wrists and elbows and heaved him out of the car. Lifted upwards, he was slung roughly over a shoulder. The smell of oil, grease, cigarettes and body odor filled his senses, a mixture so sour and pungent that had Prompto wrinkling his nose.

No one spoke, giving no hint to what was happening. The man holding him started walking, his scent drowning out any other smells around them.

Sounding slightly more distant, Prompto could hear the soft 'kwehs' of Chocobos, and, for whatever it was worth, the noise gave him a bit of comfort.

 _I must be at the festival grounds…Cor will realize that when Iggy tells him I heard Chocobos. As long as we stay in this area, they will come for me._

That once feeble hope he'd been nursing grew and with it so did his courage.

 _I got this! I can do this! I can…_

And then he was slammed to the ground, landing awkwardly on his side with right arm pinned painfully beneath him.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe. He tried to suck in air, but his lungs felt paralyzed, painfully so.

Mouth open, he desperately attempted, again and again, to will his body to work, and, finally, the slightest relief came. He drew in a shallow breath, nurturing it and protecting it like a flame in the night.

He knew he's simply had the wind knocked out of him. During training, Noct, Gladio or someone else often had it happen when they'd taken a particularly hard hit. They would pause for a short while, catch their breath and then return to training. Prompto had assumed it was like needing to pause for a break during running. It was not.

This was terrifying and far more painful than he had imagined. He had no idea how they simply ' _walked it off'_ so darn casually.

Slowly, as he pulled in each breath, he realized the rough, uneven ground smelled of cedar and had a faint hint of Chocobo dung.

 _The indoor race track!_

"Shit, Peter…" A voice boomed from beside Prompto. He recognized it as the raspy voice from earlier. "Be careful with the brat. You shouldn't be tossing him around like that."

Even as his pinned arm had pain flaring through it, Prompto held still.

A grumbled huff somewhere off to the right sounded. "Why? Bruised or not, we'll get the same payout for him. He just can't be dead."

No argument came, and Prompto shivered at that.

Silence settled over them again, though he could hear the two men shuffling about, sounding as if they were doing some sort of busywork.

As the seconds continued to tick by, Prompto strained to hear any sound that might hint at Cor, Gladio and Ignis' arrival.

"Hey!" The gruff shout from raspy voice had the blond holding his breath, waiting as dread and anticipation battled within him.

"The boss is here," raspy voice hissed, obviously to his companion, and then he added, louder and addressed to someone further off, "Hey, Samson, we got the kid here."

A pause, the silence somehow laced with tension and danger.

"Yes, I see that." The man, Samson, answered coldly. Each word injected with disgust. "Why don't we shout that a bit louder? In case the festival security didn't hear you the first time?"

"They are helping wrangle the Chocobos," the other goon, the one called Peter, replied.

"Aren't we fortunate then?" Samson answered drily. "Where are Victor and Rod?"

"Rod went to the drain his lizard and Victor has been watching the folks trying to load the Chocobos," raspy answered.

An irritated sigh sounded.

" _Everyone,_ " Samson snapped, "was supposed to stay _here_. Was that instruction really so difficult to understand?"

There was a shuffle of feet, something frantic sending wood chips scattering.

"I'll go get them," raspy replied.

After that, for several minutes all Prompto could hear was the soft tapping of fingers on a screen. It sounded as if someone was texting.

"I've got a buyer," Samson said finally. His tone had lost all hostility, replaced with something smug and almost jovial. "After we're far from Insomnia, we can see what the King will pay, but I bet it's nothing on what this buyer from Niflheim is offering." He gave a soft chuckle. "This kid is my golden goose. I'm planning on retiring to the upper end of Tenebrae after this."

"Yeah," Peter huffed, caution and distrust evident in his voice. "We still good on the plan?"

Samson gave a murmured hum of agreement, and Prompto thought he'd leave it at that, but then he suddenly spoke up again.

"You and I will take the Prince out of the city, and Viktor, Rod and Zeke will…die in a fiery car accident."

"So, it's done?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, I tampered with the fuel lines and rigged it so the car would throw some sparks. They won't get far before the whole thing bursts into flames. I added a little something special to make sure no one survives."

A heavy sigh sounded, Prompto thought it came from Peter, but it was hard to tell.

"I hate taking these cleanup jobs with you," Peter said. "I never know when my name will be on your kill list as well, _and_ seeing as you keep calling this your farewell job, I can't help but think that time has come. So, Samson, how are you planning to do it?"

Prompto felt like his brain was going to melt.

So, this guy, Peter, knew Samson was probably going to turn on him, and yet he still was working with him? How did this make any sense at all? Were these guys insane?

"Poison," Samson answered, with a hint of mirth. "I injected it into a sealed bottle of 100-year-old Tenebrae Whiskey."

Peter cursed. "That's a waste of a damn fine drink. I assume you were going to give me the bottle in celebration after we were in the clear."

"Yes, that was the plan. I would've had a drink from the bottle to ease your suspicions. One shot alone would only bring about an upset stomach at most, but…"

"Drinking nearly the whole damn bottle," Peter interjected, "would kill. Way to use my alcoholism against me." There was a slight pause and then, "Which poison?"

"The Sea-breeze concoction from that job we took from that crazy Duke," Samson answered.

Peter gave a quiet, thoughtful hum, and then there was another span of silence.

In his head, Prompto was trying to calculate out what would happen next. Would these guys turn on each other? Was it going to be like a shoot-out? What would happen when the other three goons came back?

The gruff laugh that came from Peter was _not_ what Prompto had expected.

"That," Peter chuckled, "is the nicest damn death I have _ever_ heard you plan. A bottle of 50,000Gil whiskey and a poison that lulls one off into a dreamy euphoric state before killing them? You're getting soft. I guess it is time for you to retire."

"You deserve a good death," Samson replied softly. "You've served me well over the years."

Prompto frowned, uncertain how everything said was so amicable and deadly all at once. He couldn't make sense of it, and it had him even more on edge.

"I'm going to walk away now." Peter answered. "We both know that's the only way I'm getting out of this alive." The man shifted, sounding as if he was taking a couple steps back. "Trying to stop me would only cause a scene, and I know you don't want that."

"You'll leave, abandoning your cut? That seems foolish."

A couple more steps sounded, before Peter replied. "It'd be hard to spend, being dead and all. Plus, I have the money you gave me up front… _and_ I stole Victor, Rod and Zeke's money you gave them up front as well. Those idiots will never know. They'll be dead soon enough."

"It was a pleasure working with you, Peter," Samson replied.

"I wish I could say the same. If you ever come out of retirement, don't look me up."

Silence again. Prompto could only assume that Peter had left, and that Samson had let him.

A low sigh and more sounds of texting started, giving hint that Samson still remained, that he was actually _very_ near Prompto.

Eventually, the ungraceful footfalls of others sounded.

"Where'd Peter go?" the raspy voice, which was probably Zeke, asked. "We saw him leaving, but I was pretty sure we were all supposed to stay here, right?"

"Don't worry about it," Samson answered curtly.

"But you said…"

"DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT!" Samson snapped.

Someone whispered a breathy curse.

With the sudden stillness, all Prompto could do was imagine the looks being exchanged. He wondered if any of the men suspected that Samson was going to turn on them.

"I need a picture of the Prince to send to the buyer," Samson said casually, as if he hadn't just been screaming at his cohorts. "Viktor, hold him up and take that blasted bag off him."

Realizing what was coming, frenzied thoughts filled Prompto's head.

 _I should fight…no, I should try to run? Or…or…I could…I could…_

All too soon, hands were on him and he was sat upright.

Realistically, he knew he couldn't run _or_ fight with his arms and legs bound, but he felt the pull to do something, anything for the sake of his self-preservation.

In a flutter of motion, the burlap sack was pulled off his head. He blinked dumbly as his eyes adjusted to the bright overhead lights, and his lungs rejoiced at his first deep, fresh breath of air.

"What the hell?" Someone muttered.

Prompto glanced around him, taking in the sight of the four large men staring down at him. He wiggled slightly, testing the grip the greasy, troll-like fellow had on him, but it did no good. He was held tightly in place.

Phone out, held up as if he'd been about to take a photo, a man with short gray hair, wearing faded jeans and a nylon jacket with a trucking logo on it, took a single step forward. His steely blue, unblinking gaze was fixed fiercely on Prompto. Slowly, as he lowered his phone, the man's contorted expression of surprise darkened into one of pure rage.

 _That's gotta be Samson..._

The other two men, a dark haired dude with a thick beard and a tall, thin blond, stood further back, continuing to stare dumbly at the scene unfolding before them.

Leaning down, so that he was face-to-face with Prompto, Samson's nostrils were flaring with each breath.

"What," he asked, never taking his eyes off Prompto, but obviously not directing the question at him, "the hell is _this?"_

* * *

There had been many times in Cor's life that he'd thoroughly taunted death, coming much too close to the grim reaper's reach. He could now add his _ride_ with Ignis to that list.

Each swiftly angled turn, every solid object that was narrowly avoided, each detour down or up a flight of stairs taken brought them to within a hair's reach of injury or death.

Cor had assumed, when they first started off, that he'd have to urge Ignis to speed up, to take a few risks. He'd been certain the staunchly rigid advisor wouldn't press recklessly on, coaxing the bike to its maximum speed, letting his emotions cloud what a sensible servant of the people should do. Cor had been wrong – he had been so _very_ wrong.

He was sure of that fact when Ignis took their first detour over a pedestrian bridge. Luckily, there were only a few people out walking, and all of them managed to dive out of the way.

Ignis gave gruff calls of warning to those before them, but it was clear he'd made up his mind, set his route and would be unwavering on getting to his location.

Every narrow miss they encountered spike of adrenaline coursing through Cor, but he never flinched. He never even considered suggesting they slow – safety be damned. Prompto was all that mattered!

As they neared the festival grounds, and the red and white striped tops of the oversized tents looming behind buildings, Cor gestured southward, trying to indicate to Ignis that was the location of the Chocobo ride. Ignis nodded his understanding and slowed the bike to take a particularly sharp corner.

They were barely into the turn when a car horn blared and a streak of yellow crossed in front of their motorcycle.

In a heartbeat, the world spun, tilted and was filled with pain.

Cor blinked and took a shaky breath. He was lying flat on his back, staring up at the cloudy sky, heat and pain flaring through his left hip.

" _Kweh! Kweh!"_

He turned his head, catching sight of a lone, rather livid looking Chocobo staring back at him. The bird didn't seem injured, but with ruffled feathers and dark glare, the creature was obviously provoked.

Then, the bird turned and ran, leaving Cor blinking dully at nothing in particular.

It wasn't until he heard a soft groan that Cor's mind cleared, that he remembered what important matter he had at hand.

Slowly, he moved, easing himself into a sitting position. His hip and left leg protested, but the pain wasn't so bad as to indicate a break. Perhaps there was a strain or sprain and some definitely heavy bruising.

Cor glanced around, eyes quickly falling on Ignis.

The Prince's Advisor was sitting up as well. Eyes unfocused and wide, he had a hand to his temple, fingers coated in a wet crimson – the same that was streaking from a nasty gash on his forehead, near his hairline, and coating the left side of his face in blood.

Grunting though the pain radiating in his leg, Cor stood. He took an experimental step. Weak and shaky though it was, the leg would hold. The pain he could deal with. Hell, even if it had been broken, he knew he would have kept pressing on.

When he looked back to Ignis, he was surprised to find the man up and striding toward him. No hint of agony was present on the young man's face. There was only a grim determination.

"Apologies for the setback," Ignis said, "I had not calculated for a Chocobo on the loose. I suggest we get moving as time is not a luxury we, or Prompto, has at the moment." He paused to eye Cor's leg. "Do you require assistance?"

Cor shook his head. "I'm fine. Let's go."

For his part, Ignis gave no argument, letting the Immortal begin limping toward the festival grounds unaided. He simply followed, though when Cor chanced a glance back, he noted the young man was sending out a text. He was most likely contacting Gladio, giving the man an update and ensuring the Prince was still safe.

Gaze returning ahead of him, he noted another Chocobo dashing through the festival grounds and his heart sank just a bit. If the birds were on the loose, if any had made their way into the city, was it possible that Prompto wasn't here – that he'd heard one of the escaped birds from somewhere else?

That was a possibility, but for now, they'd start here.

 _Titan, Ramuh, Shiva, Leviathan, Bahamut, Ifrit… I don't care who I must pray to…one or all…Just keep Prompto safe…_


	7. Chapter 7

Rage and frustration demanding an outlet, Samson glared at the kid sitting before him. From beneath stray locks of sweaty blond hair, frightened, blue eyes peered pitifully back at him.

Samson could _feel_ everyone staring at him, waiting for him to react – waiting for him to go ballistic.

Oh, he wanted to…he _really_ wanted to. He wanted to lash out, to maim – to squeeze the very life out of this strange blond anomaly gazing up at him.

Reason, ultimately, prevailed. Reacting without gathering intel would be imprudent. Samson knew this. He hadn't lasted this long in such a sordid profession by allowing his emotions get the better of him.

Still, as he glared down at the young man who was definitely _not_ the Prince of Lucis, his ire had him picturing the blond broken and bloody. That thought alone brought a dark twist of comfort, even if it was no more than a punishment doled out in his imagination.

Above all, Samson realized, one way or another, this young man was going to suffer.

Even if he'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time – if he held no blame at all in ruining the Prince's abduction – if Viktor and Zeke had just nabbed the wrong person, this kid knew too much.

He had, after all, seen all their faces, heard their plans. In fact, he'd heard the conversation Samson had with Peter, so…

Samson pursed his lips as the full realization of what the kid knew settled over him. That, most definitely, would be a problem.

It was then that the blond opened his mouth, but before a single syllable was uttered, Samson was moving.

He hadn't held back either. The strike was hard, jarring, causing pain to instantly flare to life in his knuckles, but he savored that pain, knowing full well that what stung his hand was amplified ten times over in the face that it'd connected with.

The impact had knocked the kid out of Viktor's grasp. Although, Samson was positive the man had merely let go, flinching away from the incoming fist.

 _Coward._

Lying on his back, the blond groaned. Already the right side of his face had blossomed a red hue and his right eye, squeezed closed but weeping, began to swell.

Shifting slightly, the kid hesitantly glanced back up at Samson.

 _Can't have him talking…_

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, Samson stepped toward the kid. Lacing one hand in the boy's hair, he lifted him slightly. For his part, the blond gave a strangled squawk of pain, but remained, otherwise, impressively silent and still.

"I'm going to gag you now, and you're not going to fight me, understand?" Samson said, "If you do, I'm going to have to beat you until no one, not even your parents, would recognize your face."

It wasn't an idle threat, and the blond seemed to fully understand that, as he gave no struggle and let Samson cram the handkerchief in his mouth.

Zeke stepped forward then, producing a roll of duct tape from his satchel. He tore off a strip and gave it to Samson, who placed it over the boy's mouth to ensure the gag stayed put.

"You fiddle with this," Samson said, fingers still wrapped in the blond hair as he held the kid up so they were looking each other in the eyes, "and I'll kill you. You understand?"

A weak nod was his answer.

With that, he flung the kid back to the ground and turned his attention to Rod, Zeke and Viktor.

"I can't help but notice a few things about our current _guest…_ " Samson said, observing the way all three men seemed to shrink back from him. "Like the fact he _isn't_ the Prince of Lucis…and he _is_ very much awake. This is all very surprising taking in to account that the plan was for this to _be_ the Prince of Lucis and for him to be absolutely _loaded_ with sedatives." He paused to scowl at Viktor. "Now what am I supposed to do with _this,_ " he gestured at the blond. "What are we supposed to do now that you all messed up?"

For a moment, no one moved. No one dared speak.

"He is _not_ the guy we grabbed," Zeke said at last, breaking through the silence. "I swear, boss, we got the Prince. He had dark hair. I know I saw dark hair! He wasn't blond. I swear!"

"And yet _this_ is what we have, and the Prince? Where is he? We have no idea." Samson nearly growled.

Everything had turned sideways so quickly. How had they managed to mess this up so badly? How could they have been so dumb? Samson couldn't even begin to fathom what kind of absurdities these three had stumbled into.

" _This_ is Prompto Argentum," Viktor offered, "he is the Prince's best friend, but he was in the coffee shop right before we made the grab. There is no way we could have taken him instead."

 _Prompto?_

Samson knew that name. He'd seen it written time and again in Viktor's notes.

The kid was a nobody. His family had neither prestige nor wealth, and his parents were often out of town, leaving the youth alone. He was untrained in combat and posed no threat to their plans…or so Samson had thought.

Briefly, Samson pondered if he could get any sort of ransom for the blond. Finally, he decided the effort of smuggling him wouldn't be near enough to justify the meager payout that would come. Prince Noctis himself might be willing to pay a ransom, but his Advisors and his father would dissuade the boy and then, most likely, flat out deny him the ability to pay.

Honestly, Prompto was worth nothing.

"Search him," Samson commanded.

He watched the kid flinch and squirm as Viktor patted him down. The futile struggle did nothing to stop the greasy-haired man from finally pulling the cellphone from their captive's pocket.

 _Shit._

Of course the kid had a cellphone on him still, and he'd probably gotten several texts and calls out as well. Samson's gaze shifted to the arena exit. He had to assume, at this point, that all his carefully laid plans had been compromised and that his freedom was probably drastically approaching an end.

" _Kweh-Kweh-Kweh!"_

Gaze snapping back to Viktor, Samson watched the man recoil and nearly drop the kid's phone as the thing started chirping.

"Is someone calling?" Rod asked, alarm clear in his voice "Don't answer it!"

"I won't," Viktor snapped. "No one is calling…I just," he paused, already blotchy face flushing even redder, "…accidently got into the ringtone settings somehow."

 _This is my fault for hiring idiots…_

Samson was quick to snatch up the phone from Viktor then. Time was no longer something they could dally with – losing even moments to Viktor's idiocy could mean their downfall.

Ignoring Viktor as he mumbled some excuse about all phones having different set-ups, Samson scrolled through the kid's text history.

 _Shit._

"He left the coffee house and saw you in the alleyway," Samson sighed, "and took a picture of the car." He held the phone up for the others to catch sight of the image of their sedan – with the license plate as clear as day.

Zeke gave a groan. "No way."

"He texted out that photo, followed you and then sent the address of the safe house to the Prince's Shield, Advisor and to _Cor the Immortal_ ," Samson replied coldly.

A few hoarse, whispered curses sounded.

Samson shared that sentiment. Cor the Immortal was not someone he'd planned on dealing with. He'd heard enough rumors about the Marshal to know he was a man to be avoided at all costs.

"But," Rod said, "I still don't understand where the Prince went."

Samson did, after reading through the texts, and, quite frankly, he was both impressed with the kid lying before them and thoroughly disgusted with his guys.

"He's under the bed at the safe house, or at least, at some point, he was," Samson replied. "Prompto here took his place. You idiots left the Prince behind and took his replacement dummy."

"Maybe we can go back and…"

Samson was quick to cut Zeke off. "And walk right into a swarm of Crownsguards that have probably already descended on the place? There is no way they haven't found the Prince by now. Getting him back is not going to happen."

It was as if, in that moment, Zeke, Rod and Viktor all suddenly realized there would be no further payout for their work – that there would be only Samson's wrath. Instantly, they turned on one and other, quick to cast blame and scream obscenities.

Samson tensed as they started yelling, but he made no move to quiet them. Instead, he browsed back through Prompto's call history, noting the last, fairly recent call to Ignis Scientia.

 _That would have been right as we were pulling up the festival grounds…if he heard those damn Chocobos, then there should be Crownsguards appearing any second._

Pocketing the phone, Samson turned his attention back to the three bickering men.

"SHUT UP!"

Instantly, they stilled and turned their eyes toward Samson.

"I need you three to take care of the kid. He's seen too much." He paused, waiting to see if anyone would protest. "Cram his body in the hidden compartment in the Chocobo truck when you're done. No one will find him there until we're away from this mess."

A whimper sounded from the blond, but otherwise, the kid held still. Samson cast a knowing smirk down at him. Disbelief and shock had a way of doing that to people – just freezing them in place.

Rod crossed his arms and took a step forward. "And what are you going to be doing?"

 _Getting as far from this place as possible so that you three idiots can be caught red-handed with the corpse of the Prince's best friend…_

"I'm going to find _us_ another way out of the city," Samson replied, "Just to be on the safe side."

Zeke, Rod and Viktor exchanged glances, as if they were silently trying to decide if they really trusted him.

Eventually, Zeke nodded. "Sure, whatever. We'll take care of the kid."

Prompto bolted up onto his knees, hands darting up, fingers clawing at the edge of the duct tape, trying to pry it from his face. All the while, he was attempting to speak, but the words were muffled, jumbled things.

Rod quickly sprang to action. He kicked the kid onto his stomach and planted a foot in the middle of his back, effectively pressing him down, pinning his arms beneath him.

Pitiful whimpers escaped from the kid then, desperate sounds full of pleading.

Samson started for the door, not even pausing as he added, "Be sure to leave the gag in. If he starts screaming, we're as good as caught."

As he calmly made his exit, he could already hear the men arguing. No one, it seemed, wished to be the one to perform the _act_ , and Viktor, ever the idiot, hadn't realized that they had been tasked with _kill_ ing the kid.

The last thing Samson heard before he slipped away was Viktor's dumbfounded voice.

"We're gonna do _what?_ I did not sign up for this!"

* * *

Face pressed into the ground, Prompto was trying his damnedest not to hyperventilate, but there was something about listening to a group of thugs deliberate over the quickest, easiest way to murder you that just wasn't helping his efforts.

He squirmed a little more, only to have Rod press his foot harder into his back. _That_ certainly wasn't helping him catch his breath either.

Plus, the right side of his face was throbbing. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, and, though it wasn't the highest thing on his priority list, he kind of had to pee.

"Stabbing is out…too much blood. It'd make a huge mess," Zeke huffed.

Yep, peeing really wasn't high on the list at the moment…

"Uh, do we have any sedative left?" Viktor asked. "We could just knock him out, yeah? By the time someone found him, we'd be long gone. I mean, we don't _have_ to kill him, right?"

More than anything Prompto wanted to chime in and vote for that option. A little shut-eye and then wake up after this was all over? Hell yeah, he was down for that!

"We're out of the sedative, and he's seen our faces," Rod scoffed, "We'd have to flee Lucis completely and _never_ come back if we just let him go. Besides, it's no big deal. We'll just get it done with and…"

"Well, then _you_ do it," Viktor snapped, "If it's no big deal to _you._ I don't murder people."

Prompto made a mental note to himself that Viktor was his favorite goon. Not that it really mattered – not if they ended up killing him… _and_ it pretty much sounded like they were.

"Maybe we could just snap his neck?" Rod suggested. "No blood…and it'd be quick."

Prompto groaned. Did they really have to discuss _this_ in front of him? Wasn't that, like, extra cruel?

He tried, once again, to speak, but it did no good. The handkerchief not only muffled his voice, but left his mouth dry and tasting of sweat and engine grease. It actually started to make him gag a bit. What would happen if he threw up? Would he just have to swallow it back down? How would that work?

 _Gross…stop thinking about that…just too gross…_

His mind was wandering too much, but it always did that when he was stressed. He just couldn't help it.

 _If only these goons knew that Samson had planned to kill them…_

But that thought trailed as Prompto suddenly realized that, even if they knew, it might not change his predicament. They would probably still kill him. They'd just kill Samson too afterwards.

"I don't know how to break someone's neck," Zeke replied, "do you just twist really hard?"

Prompto suddenly realized that he was shaking, muscles twitching, convulsing as panic flooded through him.

 _Okay…so this must be shock…I'm in shock. Awesome._

Rod shrugged. "I have no clue – it's not listed on my resume."

So, not only was Prompto going to die, but he was probably going to die in some drawn out painful way because these idiots didn't know what they were doing.

 _What discount site did Samson hire these dudes off of?_

"We could strangle him," Zeke said. "That's just pressure on the windpipe, yeah?"

Viktor was quick to answer, "I'm not doing it."

"Me neither," Rod added.

Zeke groaned. "You all don't get to just bow out like that. This isn't how this works. We do this together."

"We strangle him together?" Viktor asked, sounding hopelessly confused.

Honestly, if Prompto hadn't been scared out of his mind about his upcoming demise, this might have been humorous.

"Shit," Zeke hissed. "How about this…I've got a plastic bag. We put it over his head, tape it around his neck, and then we all hold him down until he stops moving."

Rod shrugged. "Suffocation - that could work."

"Yeah…whatever," Viktor reluctantly agreed.

 _NO!_

Overcome with panic, Prompto tried to buck, to kick, to wiggle and squirm, but it did no good. Pinned in place, he eventually tired and then stilled–only to have opaque plastic blur his vision.

* * *

As they wove their way through the festival grounds, Ignis couldn't help but feel that they were running out of time.

Perhaps, they were even too late as it was.

He tried to strike that notion from his mind, to keep some semblance of hope, but the longer they searched, the direr he felt the situation had become.

Already they had wasted nearly eight minutes in the parking lot, having found a long line of taxis parked by the front gate. Each _could_ have been the abductor's vehicle. It _could_ have still contained Prompto, but all were empty – parked so that the drivers could eat at a nearby dinner they frequented.

Festival workers, milling around, either on break or shirking their duties, warily watched the two disheveled, bloody men.

"We should split up," Cor called, his limp noticeable more pronounced as they continued on. "We can cover more ground that way."

Logically, yes, but if they separated and found the men who'd taken Prompto, they would be far less likely to subdue those men alone.

"I'll try sending Prompto a text first," Ignis replied, "Perhaps, if he is able, he can give some hint as to where he is being held."

It was a longshot, but even Ignis was willing to grasp at straws when the time came for it.

 **Ignis Scientia:** Prompto, we need some clue as to your location. Is there anything nearby that you can see or hear that might aid us in finding you?

He hit send.

"That's it…I've come up with a new recipe!"

Hearing his own voice was startling, eerie even, until Ignis recalled that Prompto had mischievously set that as his text tone for Ignis' incoming text messages.

"What the hell," Cor growled.

Following the Immortal's glare, Ignis found a rather stunned looking grey haired man in a cheap nylon trucker's jacket pulling something that looked rather like Prompto's phone out of his pocket.

Glancing up, the man stiffened as he noted Ignis and Cor watching him – and then he took off running.

Any pains Ignis had suffered during the motorcycle crash were completely forgotten. Even Cor moved with a renewed vigor, his limp all but disappearing as they gave chase.

At one point, Ignis lost track of the Immortal, but he kept the grey head in sight. He was gaining ground on his target but frustratingly slowly.

Suddenly, a blur of motion slammed into Ignis' prey, knocking the man to the ground, pinning him with brute strength.

"Where's the kid?" Cor bellowed, fists moving, connecting, as the man below him fought back.

"I…I just found this p-phone on the ground….honest!" The man stammered, still struggling.

"Then why did you run?" Cor demanded.

A few sputtered gasps, and then a meek, "…because I was gonna keep it…it looks nice and expensive. I-I'm sorry."

Yanking the man onto his feet, but still keeping a tight hold on him, Cor replied, "Take us to where you found it…Now!"

Though Ignis couldn't place it, there was something about the man he didn't trust.

Gut instincts could serve valuable, but the Advisor hardly like to _rely_ on them. He was glad, however, to see Cor flash him a warning look, as if he too wasn't buying the guy's story.

* * *

Vision blurred by the opaque plastic, and body pinned beneath the three men, Prompto kicked and thrashed with all his might, but it did no good.

The bag fluttered with each breath he took, the trapped air becoming warm, stagnant, drained of oxygen. Already he could feel a fogginess settling into his brain. The lack of oxygen dulling his senses, and even through his panic, he started to feel sleepy.

 _No! Please no…not like this…_

He stilled, body working hard to pull air in, but the effort was futile. Each breath became more dissatisfying than the last. Tears and snot only added to the horrible moisture in the tiny plastic dome encasing him.

Breaths shallower, slower…the bag's crinkling becoming a subtle, infrequent noise…Prompto felt himself losing his fight. A dull ache was settling into his head, and his lungs burned.

 _So, this is it…didn't see it ending like this…_

Dark spots dancing within his vision, and he struggled to stay awake.

Then, there was a shout, followed by another, and the weight holding him down was gone.

Weak though he felt, Prompto didn't hesitate. Rolling to his side, he brought his hands up and torn at the plastic.

He couldn't free it totally from around his neck, but he could tear it apart.

As soon as his face was free, he was gasping, choking down as much sweet, cool, fresh air as his lungs could hold.

Lying there, right eye swollen shut and left eye refusing to focus – he was pretty sure he'd lost both of his contacts at some point – Prompto meekly peered around, hoping to spot either Ignis or Cor nearby.

He had no such luck though, as all he could make out were a few blobs of movement a fair distance off, on the other side of the arena…

…and that's when the gunfire started.


	8. Chapter 8

_Greetings all! Sorry for the long wait. I've gotten recent news that what I thought was my forever home is not. I still have a couple of months before I have to move, but the news was rather devastating. Between stress, downsizing my belongings and struggling to come to grips with this unforeseen twist of events, I haven't had much time (or focus) to write. However, I do plan on finishing this piece...it might just take me a bit longer, but I will get it done! Thanks to all of you who have been reading!_

* * *

Cor took three steps forward before he forcefully twisted the grey haired man's arm behind his back. The Immortal hadn't been so dense as to miss the freshly bruised knuckles the man wore, or the splatter of vibrant blood that decorated his otherwise _far-too-pristine_ trucker's jacket. Too much about this man screamed lies and deceit, and Cor wasn't about to let him lead them astray – not when Prompto's life was on the line.

"If I don't see the kid in the next sixty seconds," Cor growled, "we are going to hear bones snapping, understand?"

When no answer came right away, Cor applied more pressure, and the man gave a sharp grunt followed by a gruff, cold, "Yeah…I understand."

Whatever ploy of innocence the man had previously infused into his act was gone, and any doubt Cor had over this man's involvement in Noctis' attempted abduction went with it.

Ignis stood nearby, gaze scrutinizing, but if the Prince's Advisor held any concern about Cor's rough tactics, he certainly didn't show it.

"Move," Cor snapped, as he pushed his captive forward.

They walked then. The man in Cor's hold moved with a new resolve, as if he knew better than to test the patience of the Immortal.

One way or another, Cor thought, this would all be over, but there was a twist of dread in the Marshal's gut; it warned of loss, that he was possibly on his way to find something that would forever haunt him – that he was about to feel a grief that he'd never known could exist before this day.

 _If I find Prompto dead…_

That thought hung in his mind for a moment, horrible and unescapable, but his despair and anxiety gave way to a boiling rage he'd thought that he'd long ago learned to fully contain.

… _I'll kill everyone who had a hand in his death._

It was a truth; one he intended to keep – something that no logical argument could dissuade him from. The laws could be damned, Cor would dole out vengeance and wrath, and then, when it was over, he would face his punishment. He'd calmly let the Glaives lock him away. He wouldn't fight it.

Led onward by the grey haired man, they entered a large dome building – the very indoor race course Cor had brought Prompto to just the day before.

There had been joy then. Prompto had been a hyper ray of sunshine ready to burst with excitement as he darted from bird to bird and cooed soft praises to each. Cor didn't know if he'd ever seen the boy so happy.

 _And now…_

There was no Chocobos or bright, crisp laughter. The space was nearly empty save for three men at the far end of the arena, crouched low, huddled together, concentration fixed downward.

It was then that the grey haired man, still clutched in Cor's hold, shouted, and the gazes of the small group of men turned toward Cor and Ignis.

Cor's captive then wrenched free from the Immortal's hold and ran. Instinct should have had Cor moving to stop the man, but there was something about the scene before him – something about the way those three men were crouched low that had Cor's hackles up. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off them.

In his peripheral vision, Cor could see that Ignis drew his daggers. The flash of blue as he pulled them from the Armiger had elicited a gasp of shock from one of the three men Cor was staring at.

Movements smooth, unfaltering, Ignis sent a blade flying, the metal embedding itself in the thigh of the grey haired man; he let out a cry of pain and fell, by the time he glanced back up, Ignis was running toward him, long strides carrying him swiftly.

Cor saw no more of that fight though. His attention had been so pointedly focused elsewhere, for, as the three men shifted, Cor finally saw what had held their attention.

Laying beneath them, pressed into the cedar chips, a small, lanky form, motionless and stiff, was held. Around the person's head, a plastic bag had been crudely taped down, and Cor felt that knot of dread and anger in his gut swell.

Helpless and vulnerable, the person being held down wore all black, and, even from a distance, it was easy enough to recognize Prince Noctis' boots with the red soles.

 _Prompto._

The Marshal was moving forward then, his eyes fixed on the boy, but his training and experience tracked each threat in his peripheral.

For a split second, expressions of shock and grim disbelief flashed across the three men's faces, and then they too were moving. All of them sprang off the body they had been weighing down and took a few paces back. Their nervous gazes shifted from Cor to the struggle currently taking place between Ignis and their other comrade and then back to Cor again.

Freed, Prompto's arms, bound together at the wrist, darted to his head. His fingers scrabbled at the plastic around his face. The frantic desperation and panic of the movements nearly broke Cor then, but, for as much as the Immortal wanted to spring forward and aid the boy, he hadn't missed how two of the assailants were slowly drawing weapons from their sides.

As Prompto tore the opaque plastic away, his red and sweaty face appeared. From under limp blond hair, right eye swollen shut, Prompto blearily blinked his left eye and drew in a deep breath through his nose. Even with most of his face hidden behind a swath of duct tape, the exhaustion, pain and fear in his expression was clear.

He looked so small and broken.

The kid was noticeably struggling to pull in deep, even breaths, as he trembled and miserably tried to look around. He glanced in Cor's direction, but there was no hint of recognition on Prompto's face, only confusion and panic.

Whatever expression of rage that flashed across Cor's face then was enough to send the smallest, greasiest man of the three the Immortal was focused on to run. Unfortunately, the plump man's sudden mad dash for freedom startled his comrades into drawing pistols, and they opened fire. For whatever reason, one of the two men turned on his fleeing comrade, and the thick figure staggered and finally fell facedown. The other man sent wild, uncoordinated shots in the Marshal's direction. None struck Cor, but he knew it would only be a matter of time.

Cor summoned his own rarely used gun, but, finding Prompto positioned squarely between himself and his targets, he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. He knew he should have run for cover, but doing so meant leaving Prompto as the only target in the men's sights, and that he would not do.

Prompto, for his part, had flung himself down, lying as flat as possible as soon as the first shot was fired. The kid had good instincts, as Cor knew he hadn't been properly trained for what to do in an actual gunfight. Another pang of regret tore through the Marshal.

Cor felt the force impact his left arm, the flare of pain followed, but he ignored the fresh wound and started to move. He stayed in the open, drawing all the attention to himself, hoping like hell neither of the thugs turned their weapons on either Prompto or Ignis.

The Immortal was vaguely aware of the fact that Ignis was still locked in his struggle with the gray haired man. He caught flashes of movement and heard the scuffle of their battle, but he actively paid them little attention. However, he couldn't help but feel a wave of dread knowing this mystery man was giving Ignis, a well-trained Crownsguard, a run for his money.

Skirting the edge of the arena, Cor halted once Prompto was no longer directly between him and the gunmen. The sting of another bullet flared in his thigh. He wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer, but he wouldn't have to…

Raising his gun, decision made, he took aim and fired two quick, consecutive shots.

The shots were good; they felt natural, smooth.

One hit had been cleaner than the other; the lone bullet wound between the gunman's eyes oozed crimson, the man's mouth was open, his eyes wide with surprise as he crumpled to the ground. The other man fell faster; the bullet hit him somewhere in the cheek and he'd made a grappled, wet groan as he collapsed.

Both had been kill shots, the second messier than the first, but Cor still knew, those men were either dead or dying. Whichever it was, they were no longer a threat.

The Marshal glanced back at Ignis, relived to find the Prince's Advisor had the gray haired man subdued – laying on his stomach with his arm twisted once again behind his back. Judging by the pain on the guy's face, Ignis had dislocated his shoulder.

Then, almost before Cor could realize what he was doing, his legs were pumping, ignoring the sweltering pain of his injuries, as he moved toward Prompto.

* * *

The loud, resonating shots of gunfire sent shockwaves of terror through Prompto. Instantly, he'd flung himself flat against the ground, praying to the Astrals that was enough; it had to be, there was nothing else he could do.

With his wrist and ankles still bound, he couldn't run, and, with his blurred vision, he couldn't see well enough around to know where cover was. Plus, he had no idea _who_ was involved in this gunfight, so he had no idea if he should be running toward or away from the actual gunfire.

He _hoped_ Cor or Ignis or Gladio were there…or just any Glaive, really.

Trembling, Prompto waited, anticipating the sharp sting of a bullet at any moment, wondering if each breath was about to be his last. Would it hurt? Would it be over quickly? Would he suffer?

Each new shot fueled his terror; the sharp sounds chiseling away at the slim sliver of courage and hope he had left.

Up until that moment, Prompto had only associated the sound of gunfire with the Citadel training room – with the time he spent with Noctis and Gladio. He'd always been the one at the trigger. He'd always been the one in control. That had been safe and even fun, but this…

There was a horrible realness and frantic fear to this that Prompto's brain couldn't seem to process. The sounds of the shots even seemed different; they were more ominous and rang in Prompto's head and muddled his thoughts with a sense of helplessness and panic.

More than anything, Prompto wanted it to stop. He wanted this to be over. He just wanted to feel _safe_ again.

 _Please?_

Two final shots rang crisp and clear, and then there was silence.

Seconds started to slip by, but Prompto couldn't move. He tried, but his body remained locked in place, muscles stiff, unwilling to relax.

Footsteps, uneven and faltering, sounded nearby. Someone was still alive, and they were coming for him. He just wished he knew _who_ it was. Torn between fear and elation, suddenly Prompto found himself oddly calm.

One way or another, this was about to end.

Tentatively, he glanced up, opening his one good eye to blearily gaze at the blurry figure standing over him. He tried to focus his vision, but it wouldn't cooperate.

The person leaned down and warmth settled over Prompto's hands as his bound wrists were lifted. A quick movement followed and the tape was cut away.

"It's okay, kid. I'm here."

 _Cor! It was Cor!_

Prompto sat up quickly, ignoring the Immortal's warnings to 'take it easy.' Without thinking, he reached up and tore the tape from his face. The action stung and probably left his skin red and blotchy, but he didn't care. Sucking in a deep breath through his mouth, Prompto grinned up at Cor.

"About time you got here," Prompto chuckled, letting the pull of relief and joy seep over him.

Cor was hugging him then. The sudden, comfortable warmth was surprising but so nice, and Prompto practically melted into it.

 _I'm safe! I'm safe! I'm…_

The joy shattered suddenly as the events of the day, as the exhaustion and continuous strain of terror, as the very surreal memories of facing death repeatedly surfaced in Prompto's mind.

He wanted to be brave, to hold himself together and act cool and collected in front of Cor, but that wasn't what he managed.

Sobbing, he buried his face in Cor's chest and clutched to the man as if his life depended on it. It didn't. He was safe now. He knew he was safe, and yet…

"It's okay, Prompto," Cor cooed, "I've got you, just let it out. It's okay."

After a while, there were more words, but they were lost in the haze of Prompto's shock and utter exhaustion.

He thought he heard Ignis at one point, but Prompto couldn't bring himself to look up. He didn't want anyone to see him being such a blubbering mess.

Eventually, more people seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Their black garbs giving them away as Glaives, but Prompto couldn't decipher any more than that.

He was vaguely aware of being lifted, and he thought maybe Cor was carrying him. Someone gave him a potion, practically forcing it down his throat, and he thought he again heard Ignis' voice whispering soft words of encouragement.

He wanted to respond, to crack some stupid joke, but his strength was still gone and his voice seemed locked away, buried beneath stress and embarrassment.

It was easier to just close his eyes and let the exhaustion pull him under – to let sleep take him. He could do that, after all, Cor was there…he'd keep him safe.


	9. Chapter 9

Rarely had Ignis felt such a pull of anger, but, with the grey haired man still firmly in his hold, as he chanced a sideways glance back at Cor and Prompto, a distinct swell of fury burned in the pit of his chest.

Even from that distance, he could see how half of Prompto's face was swollen and puffy, how his right eye was painfully squeezed closed. Blood, crimson and thick still slowly oozed from his right nostril and the frayed tatters of the plastic bag that had been used in an attempt to suffocate him still adorned his neck.

He'd been beaten – had underwent the slow, horrific panic of near suffocation. Their sweet, lovable, jubilant Prompto had _suffered._

Ignis reeled at that thought, hating the very notion that something so horrific could befall such a wonderful young man. He could think of no one that deserved such a fate less.

The worst of it was the expression Prompto wore, for Ignis had never seen the bubbly blond look so utterly despondent and broken – not even when they'd had found him with a injured arm and leg after his bike accident some years back.

That rage in Ignis' gut burned, screaming for an outlet, for a way to make itself known to the world, and so, though the man in his hold was thoroughly subdued, and he offered no further resistance, Ignis lashed out.

It was an excessive, vindictive action, one the Advisor ordinarily wouldn't stoop to, but his reasonable mind couldn't seem to keep up with his emotional one. The movement was swift, the handle of his blade connecting hard with the man's temple.

There was something darkly satisfying in feeling the jolt of his strike landing, of hearing the dull crack of weapon meeting flesh and bone. The grey haired man slumped to the ground, and Ignis, in a slight daze over his own sudden outburst of violence, just stared down at the unconscious person lying at his feet.

 _Well, that happened…_

Rage subsiding, shame and exhaustion took its place. Ignis was left with nothing but his own sickening self-reflection over his actions. He'd never been one to cave to raw emotions. He prided himself on being precise, planned and proper, but his reaction for this situation was messy and rash and not becoming of one of his …

He glanced back at Cor and Prompto, finding the blond engulfed in Cor's embrace. Prompto's lean form trembled and shook, and even with his face buried in Cor's shirt, Ignis knew the boy was crying – was breaking down.

It was so strange, Ignis thought, to feel shame over his violent outburst, but also to feel no regret at the same instance. How was that possible? He wasn't sure, but that was how he felt. If he could live the moment over again, he would change nothing.

With that thought, the Advisor summoned a length of rope from the armiger and used it to bind their unconscious prisoner. When he was satisfied with his work, he rose, turned toward Cor and Prompto and slowly made his way over to them.

As Ignis neared the two, he could hear the soft, tender words Cor was offering to Prompto.

"I'm here…it's over," Cor crooned, one arm wrapped tightly, protectively around the blond, while the other was gently stroking the boy's head, ruffling his hair. "Just take deep, even breaths…it's okay…it's okay."

Cor's gaze turned to Ignis and there was something so starkly vulnerable and sad held within it. Though this should have been startling, as the Marshal was not one to let slip any sign of softness, Ignis could relate to his current state.

Prompto was hurt and traumatized, and it turned the world on its head. It made them act as they normally would not, and so, because of it, Ignis lashed out in violence, and Cor let down his grim, stoic demeanor. They simply reacted, and, at the moment, it just was what it was.

Shouts and the patter of feet pounding pavement hard sounded, as if people were running, and though a moment of alarm flooded through Ignis, he calmed when he saw the first Crownsguard poke their head into the building.

Ignoring the flow of guards descending upon them, Ignis crouched next to Cor and Prompto.

"We're going to get you a potion, _very_ soon," Ignis whispered, and he felt the tendril of annoyance with both himself and Cor for allowing themselves to both leave the Citadel so ill prepared that morning. They hadn't had a potion between them, and while their own suffering after the motorcycle accident hardly gave Ignis pause, seeing Prompto in pain had him ruminating on his own stupidity for not restocking his supply of curatives.

Prompto gave no answer, but Ignis could not fault the young man. He was obviously in shock and exhausted. As the arena came to life with Crownsguards – those examining the dead, taking the single abductor survivor into custody, and patrolling the area for further danger – Ignis felt the strange need to shield Prompto from their gazes. Perhaps it had something to do with the way the blond kept himself so buried in Cor's hold, or the fact that Ignis knew that Prompto was never keen on being the center of attention when he wasn't feeling so great.

"Sir."

Ignis startled at the voice. He glanced up to find a petite Crownsguard, a woman by the name of Rebecca – if he recalled correctly, standing before him.

"I've some potions for you, but…" she paused, her hesitation obviously painted with distaste for what she must say. "I need to get some photos first, for evidence."

Ignis blinked, his mind feeling a bit sluggish suddenly, and he had to wonder if the motorcycle accident had anything to do with his mental lag. Then, he caught the gentle nod of Rebecca's head as she motioned at Prompto.

 _Oh…_

Of course they would need to document Prompto's injuries before applying a potion. It was standard in cases such as this, and yet Ignis despised the idea – it felt so wrong somehow. He just wanted to heal the young man, to _erase_ all his pain and fear not created lasting images of it.

"Get it over with," Cor growled, as he held Prompto up, letting the kid's head loll in such a way that Rebecca had a good angle of his full face; the blond gave a quiet groan, his brow creasing and quivering frown growing. Cor shifted again, eyes fixed hard on the Crownsguard. "Get what you can now, because in ten seconds, I expect you to hand that potion over."

Another Crownsguard came up, and Ignis' attention fell to them as the dull clicking of Rebecca's camera sounded behind him.

"Potions for you and Cor, Sir," the Crownsguard said, practically shoving two vials into Ignis' hands.

Ignis held one gingerly in his left hand and crushed the one in his right – relief flooded through him, the dull ache in his skull soothing. He turned back to Cor only to find Rebecca removing the remnants of the plastic from Prompto's neck and carefully placing it in an evidence bag. The blond had flinched at the touch, but, other than that, he remained still and quiet; his eyes were closed, but his face was strained, as if he were locked in a nightmare of some sort, but he pretty much was, wasn't he?

"That's it," Cor rumbled. "You're done."

Rebecca's answer came in the form of a potion that she quickly produced and crushed against Prompto's chest. As the magic spread, the swelling and discoloration in his face faded. The strained expression eased from the young man's face, and, if he clung to consciousness at all due to the pain, with the sudden healing, he'd most likely slipped into a well-deserved state of slumber.

A slim part of Ignis felt a stab of irritation. Though it made no matter who administered the potion, as Prompto was near unconscious and would have no recollection of the events, Ignis still had desired to be the one to lessen Prompto's pain. He was, after all, the one who'd spent so much time caring for the boy while his parents were away. Well, Cor and he had, but Cor was already giving the boy comfort, and Ignis, his fight over, wanted to give what he could to right the situation, to lessen the horrendous condition that had befallen Prompto.

It was foolish though, to ignore the fact that all the Crownsguards wanted to give their comfort to the boy. He gave a quick glance around, catching sight of various concerned faces eyeing Prompto. They gave a wide berth, knowing not to crowd, but Ignis knew if he called any one of their names that they'd run over faster than a gust of wind.

Prompto was, after all, very well liked throughout the Citadel.

In the end, it didn't matter who gave Prompto the potion, or who held him close. He was safe, and that was all that mattered.

"You think I could get that other potion in your hand?"

Ignis blinked, suddenly realizing he still held the Marshal's potion. "Oh, I- I…yes, of course."

"Here, take him," Cor huffed, handing Prompto over and taking the potion from Ignis. "If we head outside, I bet we can find a ride back to the Citadel."

Ignis nodded, but truthfully, his attention was elsewhere; his gaze fixed on the blond slumped in his hold.

Prompto appeared to be out cold, chest steadily and peacefully rising and falling. He looked content, even after such a loathsome day. Ignis had no doubt that his body simply couldn't keep up with the adrenaline and shock that had been coursing through his system for nearly the whole morning. Exhaustion was to be expected. Hopefully, they would be able to rouse him enough back at the Citadel to get him to eat and, perhaps, shower.

Truthful, the sight of Prompto, the feel of his warmth brought a melancholy joy to Ignis' chest.

The Advisor hadn't fully believed they were going to be able to save Prompto. Though he _hoped_ otherwise, though he'd never give up fighting for him – he'd thought they were going to lose the boy. Ignis had felt the dark drift of failure nipping at his heels all day, but it was over now and Prompto lived – through some miracle, he lived.

And yet an ache of sadness threaded itself through that miracle, as all the what-ifs and near misses flooded Ignis' thoughts. They _almost_ lost him.

His hold around Prompto tightened slightly as he and Cor started slowly making their way toward the arena exit.

This boy, who'd seemingly bumbled into the Prince's life, who could have just as easily been nothing to them, who, under the right circumstances, Ignis would have never known existed – had almost died, and that thought grieved Ignis immensely.

Prompto was nearly as dear to him now as Noctis, and, though his duty would always first be to his prince, he couldn't deny he felt a kinship with this young man. Not only was he a dear friend, he was someone who saw the potential in Noctis – who shared Gladio and Ignis' burden of watching over the young prince, whether he had been sworn to or not; Prompto was one of them. He'd proven as much with his actions that day.

* * *

Waking slowly to the gentle sway of a vehicle, Prompto's tired mind edged momentarily on panic before the warmth and comfort encasing him reassured him there was no danger. Vaguely, he recalled being rescued.

He could have opened his eyes and confirmed the safety, but the muffled sounds of Cor and Ignis' low voices were enough to ease his fears.

 _I'm safe…_

He lingered between consciousness and slumber, letting the line between the two blur and confuse his already befuddled thoughts. When the gentle movements of the vehicle halted, he almost forced himself to rouse, but his body begged him to keep still, to rest.

He could hear a car door open, and he was lifted. Instinct almost had him fighting it, trying to scramble to his feet, but his muscles still didn't want to function, and so he let himself be carried.

Prompto kept his eyes closed – the lone shield he had from the embarrassment of being handled like a wounded child. More murmured voices, sounding of concern, caught his ear, and he wondered where they were and how many people were seeing him in such a state.

It all made him feel so stupid and small. Sure, he'd had a hell of a day, but would a real Crownsguard need to be carried around like an infant? He wasn't really _that_ hurt – someone had even given him a potion already. He should have been perfectly able to carry himself around on his own two feet, but even just the thought of stirring, of facing people had his anxiety rising.

There were going to be so many questions. He'd have to tell them everything he could remember, but, at the moment, he just wanted to forget.

Prompto didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want people telling him that he'd been brave…or stupid. He didn't want people trying to imagine what it wall would have been like. He wanted everything to just be _normal._

So lost in thought, Prompto hadn't noticed when the strides of the person carrying him had stopped. In fact, he gave a startled gasp as he was suddenly lowered.

"Prompto…"

It was Cor. Prompto would recognize the Marshal's voice anywhere.

"Prompto, I know you're tired, but we'd like it if you could get washed up and maybe eat a little."

Reluctantly, Prompto cracked open his eyelids.

The world around him was blurry, but he recognized it. He was in the citadel, in the guest room near Noct's quarter that had slowly, somehow, become Prompto's over time. It shouldn't have been that surprising with how much he lived there when his parents were away, but even then, as his weak gaze scanned the photography posters on the wall, his camera equipment in the corner and the goofy Chocobo throw blanket on the otherwise luxurious and behemoth bed, Prompto still couldn't believe he was allowed to stay here.

He blinked and swayed, suddenly realizing that Cor had maneuvered him to his feet.

"Can you get washed up?" Cor asked, concern tinged in his voice. "Ignis is preparing a light meal for you right now. It'd probably be done right around the time you get out of the shower."

Feeling like his head had been stuffed with cotton, Prompto nodded. He took a shaky step away from Cor, and an image of a newborn Anak taking its first steps flashed through his mind. Behind him, he could hear Cor take a hasty step toward him.

Prompto turned, a smile instinctively coming to his face. "I-I'm good." His voice squeaked a bit and he felt heat rise in his cheeks at the pitiful sound of his words, but then as he blurrily took in what he could of Cor's expression – of the concern and of the love, he added, "Thanks…for everything."

Cor smiled. It was something so genuine and warm, and Prompto only wished that he had his contacts or glasses so that he could witness it fully.

 _Or my camera…_

"Go get washed up. There's a set of clothes laid out for you in the bathroom already," Cor finally answered. "Go on now; we wouldn't want Ignis' meal to get cold."

Still in a bit of a daze, Prompto nodded, turned away made his way to the stupidly-way-too-big-for-one-person bathroom.

A perfectly folded set of his clothes were set on the bathroom counter along with his glasses. That had to have been Ignis' handiwork. The man had even found Prompto's favorite pair of sweats and Chocobo tee-shirt, along with clean socks and underwear.

Prompto worried his lower lip as he stared at the pile.

Even after all these years of having the guys to help look over him, he still wasn't one hundred percent comfortable in totally accepting it all. He had done so much for himself growing up, and what if one day he didn't have the guys anymore? What if they found out about the tattoo on his wrist? What if they rejected him?

So, he kept a little barrier of wariness. He understood that each little gesture they did for him was wonderful, kind and he appreciated it probably far more than they'd ever know, but he couldn't forget that, one day, he might very well be all alone again. So, he couldn't get too comfortable with this lifestyle, for it would hurt him way too much if it all was torn away.

Pushing away those heavy thoughts, Prompto started to get undressed, but, as he went to slip off his boots, he realized that he was still wearing Noctis' footwear.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, he pulled each boot off and let it fall to the tiled floor with a soft _thud._ Then, he just sat and stared at them for a moment, letting his actions of the day play through his mind once again.

 _It was brave, yeah? I don't feel brave though._

Realizing he was wasting time, he hastily got undressed and jumped in the shower.

The steamy, hot water felt like heaven, and, for a while, he just enjoyed the gentle spray and how the tension from his muscle slowly eased.

When he finally turned the water off and stepped out, he felt a bit renewed. There was still a weariness clinging to him, but not one that seemed insurmountable any longer.

He dressed quickly, glad Ignis had picked out one of his most comfortable outfits. Style could be damned at the moment. He didn't even care that he had to wear his big, clunky glasses instead of his contacts. He didn't even want to think about putting contacts in at the moment.

Engulfing his head in a towel, he set about trying to dry his hair as best as he could as he emerged from the bathroom.

"Prompto?"

The blond froze. He'd thought the room was going to be empty, that he'd have more time to get ready and just prepare himself mentally for the conversations that were to come.

Slowly, he lowered the towel.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, slightly glossy eyed and haggard looking, Noctis was staring back at him.

Leaning forward just a bit, Noct let out a low sigh and then said, "We need to talk."


	10. Chapter 10

Noctis wasn't a morning person. Waking after a night of slumber meant forcing his stiff body to move, slowly discovering each aching muscle and joint and working the pain loose. It made him feel old beyond his years. He hated how the injuries of his childhood had left their permanent, though unseen, marks on him.

It wasn't fair.

He groaned and tried to roll over, but his body wouldn't quite obey. Everything felt unnaturally heavier somehow. Everything felt _wrong._

"Son? Can you hear me?"

 _Dad?_

Noctis tried to reply, but he could only manage a huff of breath. A trickle of panic began to form, but it couldn't overcome his warm, comfortable exhaustion or the safety he felt upon hearing his father speak.

"You're alright now. You're safe, my son." Regis' voice sounded so soft. It reminded Noctis far too much of that gentle tone his father used to use on him when he was bedridden as a child. "You were drugged, but we've given you something to help clear that out of your system. Just don't force yourself too much to move at the moment."

 _Drugged?_

Fuzzy memories came back to Noctis of leaving his apartment to meet Prompto at the coffee shop. He remembered the child's crying coming from the alley and how he'd gone to look in the dumpster, and then…

A sudden wave of adrenaline pumped though his system as he recalled the flare of pain from a pinprick to his neck and then the world going dark.

Someone had gotten the jump on him. Noctis had faltered in using his training or even just his common sense. He'd let down his guard, and he'd paid the price for that.

Feeling anxious and ashamed, he opened his eyes, squinting in the dim light of his bedroom. Regis was sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. Not far off, Gladio stood, tense and brooding. Whatever had happened, Noctis could tell his Shield was already berating himself mentally for failing his Prince.

Noctis locked eyes with his father.

"W-what…" his voice was scratchy and sounded dreadful, but he simply cleared his throat and continued, "What happened? I remember the alley and then everything went dark. How did I get here?"

There was a moment of silence. It seemed as if his father was gathering his thoughts, and for as much as Noctis wanted to push him to start speaking, he, instead, held himself still and waited.

"Prompto saw your abduction." Regis finally replied. "He took a picture of the car that took you and texted Ignis, Cor and Gladio."

Noctis nodded. That made sense.

 _Thank the Astrals for Prompto…of course he'd be nearby and ready to take a snapshot._

Noctis reasoned out that Ignis, Cor and Gladio were probably able to track him down from the information they found in the picture. They must have saved him.

"Then," Regis continued, "Prompto followed the vehicle on foot, and he was somehow, miraculously, able to keep up with them."

 _Wait, what? Prompto did that?_

"The people who planned your abduction," Regis continued, "had managed to cause massive gridlocks in the city, and the Citadel went under lockdown after a series of loud explosions – which we later found out, was merely teenagers with powerful fireworks who'd been payed handsomely to light them off." Another pause ensued, highlighting the fatigue and concern that etched the King's face. "In the chaos, it was…difficult for anyone to get to you quickly. You were in great danger."

There was a haze to Noctis' thoughts still, and it took him a few seconds for a new panic to settle over him.

He bolted up into a sitting position; his vision blurred and the world swayed as Noctis asked, "Where is he? Where is Prompto? Is he alright? What happened? Why isn't he here?"

He couldn't stop the questions from pouring out. They tumbled from his lips, each more desperate than the last. The panic and dread he felt was too familiar – reminding him too much of the trauma and loss he suffered in his childhood. His pulse, now frantic and wild, ran cold at the thought of Prompto being hurt, lost or dead.

It was then that Gladio took a hesitant step forward.

"Prompto will be fine. I just got a text from Ignis. He and Cor got blondie back. They're heading to the Citadel now."

 _Back?_

Noctis blinked. That didn't make any sense. Why did they have to get Prompto back? He wasn't the one who'd been abducted. How was he in danger and Noctis was safe in his bed? None of it made sense.

"From what I understand," Regis said softly, "Prompto followed your abductors to their hideout. He then snuck in and located you in a room of the establishment. However, he quickly realized that he wouldn't be able to carry you out without being discovered, so he texted the location to Ignis, Gladio and Cor, hid you under a bed and took your place."

"The kidnappers had a bag over your head," Gladio added, "So, Prompto put that on, along with your boots and coat, and the goons didn't bother checking him over before taking him to their next meeting location. They thought they had you still." Gladio gave a soft huff. "It was a dangerous move on blondie's part." There was an odd mix of admiration, regret and anger in the Shield's tone.

Noctis felt a cold dread envelope him. He'd been helpless and vulnerable. Worst of all, Prompto had put himself in danger for him. He could have been _killed_. Prompto had to have known that. He had to have…

 _He was sacrificing himself for me._

That thought burned in Noctis' head. He felt overwhelmed by Prompto's loyalty and friendship, and he was sick too at the thought that he'd almost lost his best friend. That wasn't Prompto's job. He wasn't supposed to put himself in harm's way. Noctis didn't want that…right? He frowned, recalling all the conversations he'd had with Prompto about the blond joining the Crownsguard.

Honestly, Noctis wasn't sure what he wanted any longer. The whole thing made him feel dizzy and sick. There was only one thing he was absolutely sure of…

"I want to see him…when they get back." Noctis wasn't asking, and if anyone refused him, well, he was damn well going to find a way to get to Prompto.

"Of course, my boy," Regis answered, a gentle smile adorning his face. "I thought you'd say as much. Just be patient with the lethargy in your body and let Gladio help you."

Noctis considered hopping out of the bed right then and making his way for the door, but already, just from sitting up, his body was fighting him. Weighted and numb, his limbs were difficult to control, and he doubted very much that he could get to his feet on his own, let alone stay standing.

As if he could read Noct's mind, Gladio stepped forward.

"We just need to get you moving a bit," the Shield said, "The injection you were given to combat the sedative is slow acting. Let's get your arms moving first."

Noctis nodded and Gladio moved to start helping him stretch.

It all felt like a training session…sort of. There was more shame now though. Noctis had messed up. This was _his_ fault. Sure, Gladio was probably blaming himself and maybe Ignis was wallowing in guilt as well, but, in reality, it was Noctis' own choices that had gotten him abducted.

He was the one who'd insisted the route from his apartment to the coffee shop was safe and that he didn't need an escort. He was the one who'd followed the sounds of the sobs into the alley without waiting for backup. He'd thought he could handle it. He was so sure of himself, and, in the end, he'd put himself and, eventually, Prompto in danger. This was his fault.

"I'm sorry," Noctis muttered as Gladio helped him stand. Regis had already, reluctantly, left them to return to his duties – with the promise that he'd clear his entire evening schedule to spend time with Noctis.

Gladio grimaced and then sighed. "Yeah, you were kind of stupid today." The steely edge to his gaze soften a bit. "But I get it. You thought a kid was in trouble and you acted with your heart. It's hard not to react sometimes. We've all been there. Just learn from your mistakes, okay?"

The question was laced with concern. There was a hint of ' _don't ever do that again because the stress nearly killed me'_ to it.

"Yeah." Noctis mumbled, wanting to say more but needing to direct most of his focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

Slowly, they made their way from Noctis' room down the hall toward Prompto's quarters. Their progress was infuriating sluggish, but no matter how hard Noct tried to pick up the pace, his body refused to go any faster.

Just outside of Prompto's room, Ignis greeted them. It was odd to see him with his hair a mess and his clothes dirty and wrinkled, but he acted as if nothing was amiss.

"How are you feeling?" Ignis asked. "Should you be out of bed just yet? I can imagine the sedatives haven't totally left your system."

Noctis shrugged. "I want to see Prompto."

"Yes, of course," Ignis answered as he looked to Gladio. The two seemed to have some kind of quiet conversion before the Advisor's gaze returned to Noct. "He's in the shower now. He'll be out shortly. Perhaps you can wait in the kitchen for him? He'll be coming out to get…"

"I'll wait in his room," Noct replied quickly, peeling himself from Gladio's hold. He staggered slightly, but caught himself and managed to appear somewhat steady – at least enough so that his Shield didn't immediately reach for him. "I'd like to talk to him in private."

There was a distinct hesitation from both Ignis and Gladio, but both seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same time.

"If that is what you wish…" Ignis replied.

"You know where we'll be if you need us," Gladio added.

Noctis nodded and turned, knowing that neither man would leave the hall until they'd seen him disappear into Prompto's room. They would wait, ever loyal, ensuring that he wasn't going to change his mind at the last second and request help, but he wasn't.

Carefully, slowly, he made his way into the room and sat on the edge of Prompto's bed. He could hear the shower running in the bathroom, and he relaxed slightly at the sound.

Prompto was safe. He was here. Yeah, Noctis had messed up, but he hadn't cost his friend his life. He _almost_ had though.

The longer he sat waiting, the more anxious Noct grew.

 _What am I going to say to him? What will he say to me? Will he be mad? Will he still want to be a Crownsguard? Do I still want him to be a Crownsguard?_

The sea of questions and doubts playing in his mind weighed him down, exhausted him, until he wasn't sure at all any longer of what he wanted or what was right…and then, Prompto came out of the bathroom.

* * *

Still stunned to find Noct sitting in the room, Prompto forced a wide smile and prayed it looked genuine.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see Noct, because he really did. He just didn't want to incur the wrath of the Prince just yet, as he was certain that Noct wasn't going to be happy about what Prompto did that day.

"Heya, bud," Prompto finally managed with a chuckle. "Crazy day, yeah?"

Noctis' expression remained passive. His glossy eyes fixated on the blond. "What were you thinking?"

Prompto shrugged, smile easing. That hurt. He knew it had been coming, but it still hurt.

"That was stupid dangerous," Noct continued, his voice cracking slightly, finally giving some hint to his emotions. "You could have been killed!"

Prompto frowned, his voice coming out small, weak. " _You_ could have been killed."

Mouth drawn in a tight scowl, Noctis shook his head. "No, they wanted me alive. They wanted a ransom. I was in a lot less danger than you were."

Already Prompto was exhausted with the conversation. He didn't want to fight about it. He didn't have it in him to argue, and yet…

"You…" Prompto started, faltering on his own thoughts as he shifted his gaze down to his feet, "…y-you were unconscious and looked so helpless. There was no way I could leave you like that – there was no way I could just let them take you." He could feel the tears starting to sting his eyes, but he somehow managed to hold them at bay. "They talked about maybe selling you off to people overseas… and… Astrals, Noct…. I couldn't… I couldn't…"

Prompto paused to take in a shaky breath, and he let his gaze return to Noctis.

The Prince looked defeated. Face pinched with sorrow, a few silent tear streaked down his cheeks.

"You're my best friend," Prompto said, "I _had_ to help you."

Silence encased them both for a few moments, and, as it lingered, Prompto slowly padded his way over to the bed and sat next to Noct.

"I'm still trying out for the Crownsguard," Prompto said at last, and he could feel Noct tense at his words.

" _Why?_ " Noct's voice sounded so lost and small. "Today was…"

"Today," Prompto interrupted, "was _so_ not fun, and I realized that I need a lot more training to be ready…just in case." He looked up at Noct, waiting until the Prince met his gaze before he spoke again. "I'm not going anywhere, buddy. Today didn't even come close to scaring me away. I plan on sticking by your side for as long as I can, but that means I need to be ready to help protect you too. Your life is kinda crazy, Noct. I'm not gonna lie about that, and I get it, and I want to be able to help you through that crazy, yeah?" Prompto paused to shrug. "I'm not just here for video games and comic books, okay? I'm not just a fair-weather friend."

Noctis nodded, but his frown pulled a little tighter. "If I'd lost you today…if they had killed you, I don't know if I could have handled it. No one…" Noct gave a shuddered breath, and wiped back a few tears. "No one just lets me be myself like you do. Eventually, everyone else pushes me in to this _role_ of being the Prince, but you don't. Even when you came with me a few royal functions, you treated me like…just me, and suddenly I was the Prince but still myself. It didn't feel like an act. I didn't have to hide my personality away under some royal veneer. For once it felt natural."

Prompto could feel his face flushing. "Geez, dude, don't start getting too sappy on me now. I know I'm awesome and all, but don't put me on a pedestal or anything."

There was a split second of panic for Prompto –where he thought the joking tone didn't take, that his friend wouldn't cave to his antics, but then Noctis gave a soft chuckle and the blond felt himself relax.

"You are such a dork," Noct signed, a small, sappy smile adorning his face. "I was saved by a dork."

Prompto grinned. "Gladio is never going to let you live that down."

"Well, he wasn't saving me…" Noctis replied, and his smile faltered. "He's having a hard time swallowing that, so I don't think he's about to give me too much grief."

Yeah, Prompto was pretty sure everyone was probably kicking themselves for one reason or another at the moment.

"You okay if we go and get some grub?" Prompto asked. "I'm starving." Plus it'd be a great distraction from awkward conversations, maybe? Well, at least Prompto hoped so.

Noct nodded. "Sure, bud, but you gotta help me to the kitchen. My legs are still kind of jelly."

Prompto chuckled and got to his feet, offering a hand to Noctis. "Of course, dude…ever at your side."

* * *

Ignis let his thoughts calm – let his mind focus solely on his cooking. Rarely did he let himself indulge so deeply in his hobby that he drown out all the lingering ponderings of his work, but today he needed the break. Today, his fears, stress and anxiety needed to be held at bay.

He didn't wish to dwell on Prompto's near death, or how the boy had been injured and traumatized. No, Ignis wanted to be selfish for a few moments. He wanted to give his tired brain some time to elude the chaos of emotions that had been driving his actions that day.

"Smells good," Gladio muttered from his seat at the table.

The large man had remained silent since he'd entered the room, choosing merely to sit and open one of his paperback books while Ignis cooked. The quiet had been nice though as had the companionship.

"Peppery Daggerquill Rice," Ignis answered, and Gladio gave a hum of understanding.

Both men knew it was one of Prompto's favorite dishes.

They went quiet again, only the sounds of the cooking meal echoing in the room. It wasn't until Ignis was putting the finishing touches on the dish that Gladio stood and started to set the table.

When the tasks were finally done, when there was no more work to busy Ignis' hands, he knew it was time to break the silence.

"We both failed Noctis today, it wasn't you alone," Ignis said evenly. "Don't take on that full burden yourself."

Gladio sat with a huff. "I know, but that fact doesn't really help." He looked up, warm amber gaze meeting Ignis'. "Does it?"

"No," Ignis replied, sitting down as well, lacing his fingers together in front of him as he thought. "…but it may help if we work together to review and revise Noctis' morning security plan, craft a new training program designed to teach Noctis how to deal with abductee situations, and get Prompto's applications started for the Crownsguard testing. I think including Prompto in more of Noctis' trainings would also be a wise move."

Gladio gave a soft grunt, but Ignis could decipher no intelligent answer in that lone sound. Whether Gladio agreed or not, Ignis could not be certain. Still, he felt no need to press for an answer just yet. The Shield looked lost in thought, as if he were struggling with some great internal debate.

"Those…" Gladio said at last, "are all great ideas, Iggy."

There was more, something the answer had been hedging back and forth on, but Ignis had an inclination as to what was weighing on his friend's mind – it was most likely the same doubts and fears that kept softening Ignis' own resolve.

Prompto testing for the Crownsguard needed to happen. Ignis knew that. He knew there was no way the young blond was going to just walk away from being Prince Noctis' friend, and, as the Prince's friend, Prompto would, inevitably, become a sort of last line of defense should the worst happen.

Even without proper training, Prompto had proven he'd willingly step into that role. While Ignis felt a fond admiration for the boy's loyalty, the Advisor also felt a pull of regret and sorrow. Prompto and Noctis deserved to just be young and foolish friends. The incident today was the sort of thing that stamped out that carefree innocence.

Ignis remembered back to after the attempt on Noct's life when he was a child. The pain he suffered, the fear he felt – it had stilled some of his childlike wonder. He had been more reserved after that, quieter in a way that broke Ignis' heart.

"Oh man, Iggy…" a happy voice chirped.

Ignis startled a bit, glancing up to find Prompto and Noct wandering into the kitchen. The Prince was leaning heavily on the blond, obviously still under the influence of whatever the abductees had forced into his system.

Prompto was beaming a warm smile at Ignis, "It smells great! Is it Peppery Daggerquill Rice?" There was a comical, eager expression of hope adorning Prompto's face; Ignis couldn't help but smile.

"Of course," he answered, "It felt like the appropriate dish to make."

Clenching a victory fist, Prompto gave a little dance, earning a grumble from Noct who inadvertently had to join the motion as he was still relying on the blond for support.

"Ha-ha…sorry bud…" Prompto replied, crooked grin in place as he helped Noctis take a seat at the table.

"That was uncool, man," Noct muttered, slinking into his seat with a scowl.

Ignis was quick to serve up their meal, and they ate, conversing about nothing of extreme importance. The banter was light-hearted and easy somehow, when it clearly should have been anything but that.

It was as if they all knew a deeper conversation about the day's happenings would be needed….eventually. But, now was the time to heal, to be happy that they were all still whole and together.

After the meal, both boys seemed to be drooping heavily, from exhaustion and full, warm bellies.

Ignis cleared his throat, silencing the rather mellow conversation about King's Knight that Prompto, Noctis and Gladio were having.

"I believe," Ignis said solemnly, "that we could all do with a bit of a rest, and…" He paused, noting that Prompto was squirming slightly in his seat – obviously struggling with some inner anxiety over what the Advisor was going to say. It made Ignis cringe a little to think he still caused the boy such stress. "…I've taken the liberty of calling the school to let them know you would each be missing your lessons tomorrow so that you could rest up."

Both Noctis and Prompto gave a subdued shout of excitement over that.

"And," Ignis added, "study for your rescheduled Calculus exam."

Joy shattered, unison groans sounded.

"Man, Specs, you can never just chill, can you?" Noctis grumbled.

"No," Ignis replied with a smirk, "I daresay I cannot _chill."_

With that, Prompto laughed, and, through all the trauma of the day, the Advisor knew they were going to be just fine.

* * *

Three days later, Prompto fidgeted in the hall, waiting with dread for the Kingsglaive at the door to motion him into the King's study.

He was trying his darnedest not to hyperventilate. After all, he'd met King Regis before, but usually Noct had been around when he had. That had softened the intimidation factor somehow.

Now though, Prompto was alone, trying to drive the tremble from his hands and legs as he stood outside waiting for the frigging _King_ to call him in for a conversation.

 _What does he want? Is he gonna tell me I can't join the Crownsguard? Did I do something wrong?_

With Ignis' help, Prompto had applied to take the Crownsguard test. He'd been grateful for the Advisor's instructions. A lot of the paperwork was a bit confusing. Prompto would have gotten it done…eventually, but with Ignis' help, it went fairly quickly.

"Okay, kid…time to go in."

Prompto startled and then offered up a lopsided grin. The Kingsglaive, one he'd seen often but hadn't gotten the name of, smiled back.

"You'll be fine," the man offered and motioned toward the door. "Now, don't keep the King and the Marshal waiting."

 _The Marshal? Cor was in there too? Oh Astrals, this had to be about his Crownsguard application. Did he fill it out correctly? Did he do something wrong? Was he not qualified? Was it because of the barcode on his wrist? Did it have anything to do with that? Were they going to reject him already?_

On autopilot, Prompto moved, his brain frantically turned the same loop of doubt and fear over and over in his head. Suddenly, he was standing in front of the King's ornate desk. Behind the mahogany, sat the King, and, to his right, Cor stood.

Prompto shifted, and try as he might to keep his posture ramrod straight and sure, he found himself hunching, shoulders drooping as he worried his lower lip and stared up at the King.

"There is no need for trepidation," Regis smiled. "This meeting is merely a formality…or, perhaps, an opportunity to appease my curiosity."

 _What did that mean?!_

Prompto nodded, as if he understood – not wanting to admit that he still had no idea what was happening.

"Regis," Cor started, "has some questions for you about your future…about why you would want to be a Crownsguard." A soft, tender smile graced the Marshal's face. "This isn't a test. You needn't worry about that. The King simply wishes to be sure you understand what lies ahead if you pledge your life to the crown."

 _Oh…okay? That kinda made sense…maybe? Nope…this still all felt weird._

"Why do you wish to join the Crownsguard?" Regis asked, the smile never leaving his face as his unblinking gaze fixated on Prompto.

Already Prompto could feel the word vomit just building up inside him. How could he possibly make this come out in a way that wasn't going to be disorganized chaos? That was such a big question, and it had been tossed out so nonchalantly.

He shifted again and then realized too much time had passed without him giving an answer. Cor's smile slipped slightly; it was edged with concern now. Regis, however, kept his diplomatic smile frozen in place.

Internally, Prompto groaned as he realized he was just going to have to start speaking and hope for the best.

 _Here goes nothing…_

"I like being Noct's friend…"

 _Shoot…should I not call him 'Noct' in front of the King? Is that wrong? And how stupid is that to start…I like being Noct's friend…ugh…_

"I mean…I didn't really have many friends before Noctis…Prince Noctis…and it means a lot…to…me."

 _Stupid…stupid…stupid…just calm down…take a breath…_

Prompto paused for a moment, not continuing until he felt a slight bit of tension ease from his chest. It was then, with some clarity and confidence he didn't know he possessed, he looked Regis in the eye and continued.

"Noct is my best friend. I know I'm not the bravest, smartest or strongest person he could have at his side, but maybe that doesn't matter – that's not what he needs. He's already got Ignis and Gladio, so they've got all those categories covered..." Prompto gave a soft chuckle and lowered his gaze to the back of a picture frame sitting on Regis' desk. Vaguely, he wondered if the picture was of Noct. "I know I could never be like them…and that's okay…I guess, but, all the same, I want to stay at Noct's side. Really, I just want to help him as much as I can, and I'm really good at being like stupidly loyal." He took another deep breath. "I don't think he sees how great he is…how great he'll be as a king someday. I know he doesn't like to think about that…he doesn't like to think about how…"

Prompto stopped, not wanting to say that Regis would die one day – probably sooner rather than later with how much the wall had been draining him of late.

"I understand," Regis answered quietly. "If I may ask another question…"

Prompto blinked, looking up to find the smile now gone from Regis' face.

"Um," Prompto stammered. "You're the King…I'm pretty sure you can ask me as many questions as you want."

Cor laughed, and the harsh, sudden sound seemed to drain the tension from the room.

"Yes," Regis chuckled, "I can see how you would think that…but politeness still applies…even to royalty." Once again, the joviality faded from the King's face, replaced by somberness. "What exactly makes you think Noctis will make a good king one day?"

"Because," Prompto blurted out, "he cares…like about everyone. He doesn't always act like he does…sometimes he's kind of closed off and acts like a loner, but he does care…like always. Just like you…I mean…not that you act like you don't care about people…not that part…but the part about caring, I mean," he paused to give a little huff, wondering how he messed that up so badly. "I think a good King cares about his subjects…he gives all he can to protect them…like with the wall…and I know… I know Noctis would do _everything_ he could for his people. He would give everything he has for them, and that's why he'd be a good King…I think…and with Ignis to advise him and Gladio to be his Shield…I know he'll be a good king."

"And with a friend like you at his side, to help ease his burdens, to remind him to laugh, to help him remember what he is fighting for," Regis added, "I would most certainly agree with that sentiment."

Prompto opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn't seem to force a single word out. Instead, he felt his face flush hot as both Cor and King Regis smiled back at him.

"I believe that is all for now," Cor added. "You may go."

With a curt nod, Prompto turned and fled before any more questions could be sent his way.

 _I hope I didn't mess that up too much…whatever that was…_

* * *

Regis leaned back in his chair, hands resting in his lap with fingers interlaced.

"He is a fine boy," he said, still staring at the door, smiling to himself at how the blond had scampered from the room like a scared rabbit. "A bit fidgety, but far braver than he gives himself credit for."

"He'll make a damn fine Crownsguard…not in the conventional sense, of course," Cor replied softly. "But in his own way."

"Yes…" Regis replied as he closed his eye and thought back over Prompto's answers. _Stupidly loyal…_ Regis smiled; he liked that. He thought he could even apply that same term to a few of his own friends.

"You won't deny him from being a guard once he passes the exam, will you?" Cor's question had some lace of a threat to it, something few others would dare offer their King.

Regis opened his eyes, looked back at the Immortal and laughed. "And suffer both your wrath and Noctis'? I wouldn't dare! Besides, I think it would ease my worries to know my son had such a good friend at his side. It does the crown a great service to have that friendship."

Cor's scowl softened and then lifted to a tender smile. "Yes, it does."

Leaning forward, Regis shuffled through a bit of the paperwork on his desk. "We should get back to work, though. These reports, unfortunately, won't review themselves."

Regis' gaze rose just a bit though to the framed picture he kept on his desk.

Cor had given him a copy of it, having gotten it from Prompto a few months back.

In it, Noctis had his arm slung around Prompto's shoulder and both boys wore beaming smiles; standing behind them, wearing amused smirks, stood Ignis and Gladio. It was perhaps the best photo Regis had ever seen taken of his son. He looked so happy, as if he didn't have the weight of the Kingdom resting on his shoulders.

It reminded Regis of a photo he'd taken long ago with his own friends at his side, when he too had been able to smile like the weight of the Kingdom wasn't on his shoulders.

 _Enjoy these times, my son…they end too soon…_


End file.
